SVNSHINF. 

-     LAND 


THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


LOS 


UNIVERSITY 
CALIFORNIA 
ANGELES 


/ 


< 


•fioofts  fap  ^fties  (Lljomas. 


THE  ROUND  YEAR.    Prose  Papers.     i6mo,  gilt 

top,  $1.25. 

LYRICS  AND  SONNETS.  i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
THE  INVERTED  TORCH.  Poems.  i6mo,*i.oo. 
FAIR  SHADOW  LAND.  i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
IN  SUNSHINE  LAND.  Poems  for  Children. 

Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


IN  SUNSHINE  LAND 

BY   EDITH    M.  THOMAS 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 

KATHARINE  PYLE 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFL1N    AND   COMPANY 


1895 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &   CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


2.3 


759449 


SUNSHINE  LAND 

They  came  in  sight  of  a  lovely  shore, 
Yellow  as  gold  in  the  morning  light  ; 
The  surfs  own  color  at  noon  it  wore, 
And  had  faded  not  at  the  fall  of  night  ; 
Clear  weather  or  cloudy,  —  V  was  all  as  one, 
The  happy  hills  seemed  bathed  with  the  sun. 
Its  secret  the  sailors  could  not  understand, 
But  they  called  this  country  Sunshine  Land. 

What  was  the  secret  ?  —  a  simple  thing 

(It  will  make  you  smile  when  once  you  know)  : 

Touched  by  the  tender  finger  of  spring, 

A  million  blossoms  were  all  aglow  ; 

So  many,  so  many,  so  small  and  bright, 

They  covered  the  hills  with  a  mantle  of  light ; 

And  the  wild  bee  hummed,  and  the  glad  breeze 

fanned, 
Through  the  honeyed  fields  of  Sunshine  Land. 


VI 


In  Sunshine  Land 


If  over  the  sea  we  two  were  bound, 

What  port,  dear  child,  would  we  choose  for  ours  ? 

We  would  sail,  and  sail,  till  at  last  we  found 
This  fairy  gold  of  a  million  flowers. 

Yet,  darling,  we  'dfind,  if  at  home  we  stayed, 
Of  many  small  joys  our  pleasures  are  made  ; 
More  near  than  we  think,  —  very  close  at  hand 
Lie  the  golden  fields  of  Sunshine  Land. 


SYLVIA   AND   THE   BIRDS 

SYLVIA  AND  THE  BIRDS 

How  SPRING  AND  WINTER  MET   . 

A  HANGING  GARDEN 

ROBIN'S  RETURN 

FAR  IN  THE  WOODS  IN  MAY     . 

THE  CAT-BIRD 

PRAISE  JUNE 

ROBIN'S  SHARE 

EPITAPH  FOR  ROBIN  REDBREAST 

TITANIA'S  PEN 

THE  QUAIL'S  NEST 

BIRDS  OF  THE  SlLKWEED  BROOD   . 

WINTER  COMRADES 

THE  VESPER-SPARROW 

FLOWER-FOLK  AND  OTHERS 

THE  SINGING  TREES 

THE  ANCIENT  HISTORY  OF  THE  FLOWERS    . 
THE  WHISPER  OF  THE  LEAVES  . 


PAGE 

3 

26 
28 
29 

31 
32 
33 
35 
36 
37 
39 
4i 
42 

47 


52 
54 


viii  Contents 

WHAT  THE  ROSES  SAID 56 

"  STAY  so,  SWEET  SEASON  " 57 

BLUE-BELL  HOLLOW 61 

THE  WORRIED  VIOLET 62 

INNOCENCE 63 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  GOLDENROD      .        .        .        .  65 

THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  THISTLE        ....  66 

A  NATURAL  MATHEMATICIAN       ....  67 

THE  STOLEN  PANSIES 69 

THE  BUTTERFLY  AND  THE  BEE      ....  70 
BUTTERFLY  AND  THISTLE-BALL        .        .        .        -71 

BUTTERFLY  HONEY 72 

OAK  AND  ACORN 74 

THE  POPLAR-TREE 75 

JUGGLERS  OF  THE  Moss 76 

AUTUMN  FASHIONS 77 

SNOWFLAKES 79 

TALKING  IN  THEIR  SLEEP 80 

IN    FANCY'S   FIELDS 

"  PLAY  WITH  ME  !  " 85 

JOHNNY'S  SISTER  APOLOGIZES        ....  86 

FRANKNESS 87 

A  CHILD'S  LOGIC 87 

"GRANDMOTHER'S  GATHERING  BONESET  "      .        .  88 

A  BEAR  STORY 89 

LITTLE  SISTER  REHEARSES 90 

THE  LITTLE  VERSE  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  PAGE  .  2 


Contents  ix 

OUR  FOUR-FOOTED  FRIENDS  IN  SPECTACLES  .        .  93 

THE  MOLE 94 

WHAT  THE  LAMBS  SAY 95 

STRAY  CHILDREN 96 

AGNES 97 

LA  MUSIQUE    .        .        .        .        ...        .  ioi 

CRIES  OF  THE  NEWSBOY 103 

LOST  ON  THE  ELEVATED  ROAD      ....  106 

AN  ITALIAN  BOY  SINGING  IN  THE  STREET       .        .  107 

IN  "CHANGE  ";  THE  YOUNG  CASHIER         .        .  108 

THE  VASE  THAT  RAN  AWAY 109 

"  GIVE  THE  BOYS  A  HOLIDAY  "      ....  109 

"  FLY  ! " .        .in 

WHERE   FANCY   LEADS 

A  FIELD  OF  RYE     .        .        .        .        .        .        .  115 

TODLIN  ISLAND 117 

A  SKY- VOYAGE 119 

A  WILD  HORSE  OF  THE  SEA 121 

A  LABRADOR  TEAM 122 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  His  VETERANS     ....  123 

AN  INTERVIEW  WITH  CAPTAIN  KIDD  .        .        .  124 

FIRESIDE  MAGIC 129 

THE  KING  WHO  TRAVELED  AT  HOME    ...  131 

How  THE  PINES  WENT  TO  SEA          ....  134 

THE  MIGRATION  OF  THE  SQUIRRELS     .        .        .  136 

INVITATION  TO  ECHO 137 

A  SHOOTING  STAR 141 


x  Contents 

THE  YOUNG  GEOLOGIST 142 

THE  FIELD  OF  THOUGHT 143 

THWACK-THE-HOUSE-IN-THE-RIBS     ....  144 

WHO  FILLS  THE  STOCKINGS 145 

YE  MERRIE  CHRISTMAS  FEAST 146 

THE  BURIED  CHIMES  OF  CHRISTMAS    ...  148 

THE  NEW  YEAR'S  CRADLE        ....  150 

HONEYTROPE 15! 


ylvia  and  the  Birds 


IN    SUNSHINE    LAND 


SYLVIA  AND  THE  BIRDS 
i 

A  pleasant  afternoon  in  autumn.  Sylvia  and  her 
mother  seated  in  a  broad  piazza,  the  bright  leaves 
falling  around. 

SYLVIA. 

'VE  brought  the  book,1  —  now, 
won't  you  read  to  me 

How  birds  can  speak  and  talk  as 
well  as  we  ? 

SYLVIA'S  MOTHER  takes  the  book  and  reads. 
THESTYLIS.   Where  have  you  been  all  this  live- 
long houre  ? 

l  Randolph's  Amyntas. 
3 


In  Sunshine  Land 


MOPSUS.  I  have  been  discoursing  with  the 
birds. 

THESTYLIS.   Why,  can  birds  speak  ? 

JOCASTUS.  In  Fairy  Land  they  can ;  I  have 
heard  'em  chirp  very  good  Greek  and  Latin. 

MOPSUS.  And  our  birds  talk  better  farre  than 
they.  .  .  . 

THESTYLIS.  But  what  languages  doe  they 
.speak,  servant? 

MOPSUS.  Several  languages,  as  Cawation, 
Chirpation,  Hootation,  Whistleation,  Crowation, 
Cackleation,  Shreekation,  Hissation. 

SYLVIA  (reflecting  on  what  her  mother  has  read}, 

When  I  was  in  the  fields  and  woods  to-day, 
What  do  you  think  /  heard  the  birdies  say  ? 

MOTHER. 

My  little  Sylvia,  I  could  never  tell, 

But  birds  and  children  know  each  other  well. 

What  did  they  say  ? 

SYLVIA. 

They  all  said  just  the  same, 
But  every  one  stopped  talking  when  I  came. 
They  thought  I  'd  be  so  sorry  when  I  knew 
What  they  had  all  made  up  their  minds  to  do  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


MOTHER. 

Indeed  !  What  were  they  going  to  do,  dear 
heart  ? 

SYLVIA. 

Oh,  going   away.     To-night   they   mean    to 

start. 

The  Sparrows  —  they  kept  flying  on  ahead 
And  would  n't  let  me  hear  a  word  they  said  ! 
The  Bluebird  seemed  to  go  up  in  the  sky, 
The  Wren  herself  kept  still  when  I  passed 

by- 

But  Robin  (Robin  Redbreast  always  goes 
And  tells  to  everybody  all  he  knows  ; 
He  never  will  keep  shut  his  yellow  mouth  ! )  — 
Dear  Robin  spoke  out  loud,  "  We're  going 

south  ! 
You  '11  miss  us,  Sylvia  dear,  and  we  '11  miss 

you  ! 
I  wish  —  oh  how  I  wish  —  you    might  go 

too! 
Perhaps   you   may "  —  But    that  was   all   I 

heard, 
For   some   voice   cried,  "You   gossip,    silly 

bird  !  " 
{After  a  pause?)  Mother,  I  wish  we  could  go 

south. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


MOTHER. 

Next  year, 
Your  father  says  he  hopes  to  take  us,  dear. 

SYLVIA. 

But  next  year  is  so  very  far  away  ! 
This  year  is  best ;  "  next  year,"  you  always 
say ! 

MOTHER. 

My  darling  has  To-Day,  for  work  or  play  ; 
What  is  the  little  verse  about  To-Day  ? 

SYLVIA  repeats  the  verse. 
To-Day  is  my  treasure 
With  all  that  is  in  it,  - 
Each  hour  and  each  minute, 
For  work  or  for  pleasure  ; 
Yet,  watch  as  I  may, 
It  is  running  away  — 
With  each  hour  and  each  minute ! 


II 

The  scene  as  it  really  is  :  Sylvia's  bedroom  ;  the 
bed  with  white  curtains  drawn ;  Sylvia  fast  asleep. 

The  scene  as  it  appears  to  Sylvia  :  A  Field  close 
by  the  Woods,  a  Stream  winding  by.  The  sun  has 
set,  casting  red  gleams  on  the  water.  Birds  in  coun- 
cil, perched  in  the  branches  of  the  trees,  in  the  bushes, 
and  on  the  reeds  by  the  Stream.  Sylvia  fancies  her- 
self hidden  behind  a  wild-rose  bush  listening  to  the 
talk  of  the  Birds. 

Enter  a  little  SNIPE  (crying}. 
Peet-weet !  Peet-weet ! 
I  've  such  cold  feet, 
And  nothing  to  eat ! 
The  Creek  is  so  high 
That  I  can't  keep  dry 
Except  when  I  fly ! 
Peet-weet ! 

A   KILDEER. 

Kildee!  Kildee  !  Kildee! 
This  is  no  place  for  me ! 

7 


In  Sunshine  Land 


The  southland  I  must  seek  — 
Kildee ! 

A   BOBOLINK. 

Link-a-link !  Link-a-link ! 
My  diet  has  made  me  weak ; 
The  fields  of  rice  must  be  so  nice, 
(To  the  Kildee?)     I  '11   go  with  you,  I 
think  — 

Link-a-link  ! 

A   RED-SHOULDERED   BLACKBIRD. 

Bobaree !  Bobaree ! 
A  frost  you  '11  see  — 
You  '11  see  to  your  sorrow, 
If  you  wait  till  to-morrow  — 
Bobaree ! 

A   CHIPPING-BIRD. 

Chip-chip  !  Chip-chip  !  Chip-chip  ! 
I  '11  give  November  the  slip ! 

A    HOUSE-WREN. 

Sh!  Sh!  Sh! 

Every  one  loves  the  Wren  ! 
Wait,  —  and  just  once  again 


In  Sunshine  Land 


I  '11  go,  and,  as  still  as  a  mouse, 
Peep  into  the  little  house 
They  built  for  my  use  alone, 
With  a  door  and  a  porch  like  their  own ! 
—  Sh! 

A   MARYLAND   YELLOW-THROAT  (interrupting). 

Witches  here  !     Witches  here  ! 

And  no  wonder  —  so  late  in  the  year ! 

A  FLOCK  OF  WILD  GEESE  (flying  over). 

On  !  On  !  On  ! 
Why  should  we  longer  stay  ? 
On  !  Ere  the  peep  of  day 
We  should  be  leagues  away, 
Quite  out  of  sight  of  land  ! 
Our  old  gray  Commodore 
Will  guide  our  gallant  band 
To  a  pleasant  southern  shore, 
With  the  daintiest  food  in  store  ! 
On!  On!  On! 

A   FLOCK   OF  SWALLOWS  (rising). 

Zip  !  Zip  !  You  may  count  on  the  Swallow  ! 
We  hear,  and  anear  we  will  be ; 
The  rest,  if  they  like,  may  follow 
O'er  land  and  o'er  sea. 


io  In  Sunshine  Land 

A  BLUEBIRD  (to  her  mate). 
Weary  !  Oh  weary  !  Oh   weary ! 
It 's  a  long,  long,  long  way,  dearie ! 

A  ROBIN. 

Quip !  Quip  !  Cheer  up  !  Cheer  up  ! 
But  I  think  we  ought  first  to  sup  ; 
With  such  a  long  journey  ahead, 
Pilgrims  should  be  well  fed  — 
Quip !  Quip ! 

A  HIGHHOLDER  (shouts  fro  m  the  top  of  a  dead  tree). 
A-wick-wick  !  wick-wick  !    wick-wick !  wick  ! 

Yare-op  ! 

If  all  this  senseless  chatter  you  would  stop, 
And     listen,     an     announcement    I    would 

make :  — 

Old  Father  Crane  will  soon  be  here  to  take 
All  you  small  folks  upon  his  back  —  Wick- 
wick  1 

CHORUS  OF  SMALL  BIRDS.     (Chippy,   Wren,  Yellow- 
bird,  Pewee,  Kinglet,  &r*c.,  &*c.,  Qr'c.') 

Peet-weet!    Zit !    Zit !   Cheeree!    Ittee !    Be 
quick ! 


Ill 


Crane  arrives.    Bows  indulgently  to  the  assembly  of 
Birds. 

CRANE. 

Don't  hustle  so  !     There  's  room  enough  for 

all. 
Take   care !    take    care !     you    little   chick, 

you  '11  fall ! 

The  small  Birds  proceed  to  settle  themselves  on  the 
Crane* s  back,  nestling  comfortably  under  his  thick 
feathers. 

(To  the  Humming-Bird.}     Why,  aren't  you 
coming  ? 

HUMMING-BIRD. 

No  !  I  may  be  small, 
But  I  'm  as  swift  as  any  one  that  flies ! 


12  In  Sunshine  Land 

And  brave  !  My  independence,  tpo,  I  prize  ! 
I  '11  see  Honduras  first  of  any  one  ; 
You  '11  find  me  sipping  sweets  beneath  the 
sun. 

CRANE. 

Well,  saucy  midget,  we  shall  see  !     Good-by. 
(To  Birds  on  his  back.}     Are  you  all  ready 
now  ?  If  so,  I  '11  fly. 

They  are  about  to  fly,  when  Sylvia  rises  up  from  be- 
hind the  wild-rose  bush. 

SYLVIA. 

I  'd  like  to  ask  one  question,  if  I  might, 
But  I  'm  afraid  you'll  think  me  impolite. 

SMALL  BIRDS  (alarmed  and  indignant}. 
What  here  !  Whittee  !   Chee  !  chee !    Chack  ! 

chack  !     Who  's  here  ? 

Chack  !  chack  !   Chee  !  chee  !    Some  enemy, 
I  fear ! 

The  Birds  bustle  and  look  fierce.  Out  steps  a  Robin 
—  the  one  that  had  spoken  to  Sylvia  the  same  day 
in  the  fields,  —  and  addresses  the  throng. 


In  Sunshine  Land  15 

THE  ROBIN. 

I  am  surprised  !    ashamed  !  why,  can't   you 

tell  ? 
It 's  Sylvia's  voice  !  She  knows  and  loves  us 

well! 

ALL  THE  SMALL  BIRDS  (together). 

Oh,  if  it 's  only  Sylvia,  let  her  stay. 

CRANE  (with  dignity,  turning  to  Sylvia). 
My  little  friend,  what  did  you  wish  to  say  ? 

SYLVIA. 

I    shouldn't     keep    you    waiting  —  it's    a 

shame  — 
But,  Mr.  Crane,  have  you  another  name  ? 

CRANE. 

No,  not  exactly  —  but  I  read  your  thought ; 
You  're   thinking  of   that   book  your   uncle 

brought, 

With  stories  of  the  little  ones  that  wear 
Queer   wooden    shoes   that   clatter   on   the 

stair, 

And  how  old  Father  Stork  takes  loving  care 
Of  them.     Now,  are  n't  you  ? 


1 6  In  Sunshine  Land 

SYLVIA. 

Yes  !  Oh,  Mr.  Crane, 

How   can    you   read    my  thoughts    so   very 
plain  ? 

CRANE. 

I  'm  his  first  cousin  in  America  ; 
I  carry  little  birds  to  Florida. 

SYLVIA  (eagerly). 

Perhaps  —  perhaps   you  '11    make   my    wish 

come  true ! 
There  's  something  I  would  like  so  much  to 

do: 
You're  going  south  !  I  wish  I  could  go  too  ! 

SMALL  BIRDS  (tauntingly). 

Tut,  tut !  ha !  ha  !  wittee  !  she  has  no  wings  ! 
These    human    birdies    ask    the    strangest 
things  ! 

SYLVIA  (a  little  crossly,  addressing  the  small  birds). 

If   I  had  wings,   as  you   have,  you   should 

see 
I  would  n't  beg  some  one  to  carry  me  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  WREN  {maliciously,  to  the  rest). 
Sh  !  Sh  !  She  means  old  Father  Crane  and 

lis  ! 
His  wings  are  broad  —  no  use  in  such  a  fuss  ! 

CRANE  (to  Sylvia). 
My   wings   are   broad,    and    I    would    carry 

you, 
But  then  what  would  these  little  people  do  ? 

SMALL  BIRDS  (begin  to  scold). 
Twit !  twit !  Chee  !  chee  !    You  promised  — 

CRANE. 

Hush  !  no  bird 
Shall  ever  say  that  I  would  break  my  word. 

SYLVIA  (has  a  bright  thought). 

^Jh,  Mr.  Crane,  please  call  the  Roc  !     If  he 
Could  carry  Sinbad,  he  could  carry  me : 
I  only  weigh  — 

SMALL  BIRDS  (mockingly). 

Ha  !  ha !  We  never  heard 
We  don't  believe  —  that  there  is  such  a  bird  ! 


1 8  In  Sunshine  Land 

CRANE  (reprovingly). 

You  must  n't  flirt  your  tails,  and  titter  so  ; 
Remember,  all  that  human  birdies  know, 
They  learn  from  books,  while  you  are  sent  to 

school, 
Among    the    branches    fanned    by   breezes 

cool, 

Or  learn  your  lessons  in  some  flowery  nook  : 
She  read  of  Sinbad  in  a  foolish  book  ! 

SYLVIA  (disappointedly  to  the  Crane). 
Then,  I  can't  go  ! 

CRANE  (meditating). 

Hm  !  let  me  see  ;  ah,  yes  ! 
You   never  wore   swan's    down    upon   your 
dress  ? 

SYLVIA. 

No,    Mr.    Crane  ;  nor    humming-birds  ;    nor 

wings 
Upon  my  hat !  I  would  n't  do  such  things  I 

CRANE. 

Then,  I  '11  arrange,  at  once,  for  you  to  go  ! 
A  lovely  friend  of  mine,  as  white  as  snow, 


In  Sunshine  Land  19 

Will    soon  be  here  —  with  wings  so   broad 

and  strong, 

That  they  will  swiftly  carry  you  along, 
Like  sails  of  ships  !     And  you  may  lay  your 

hand 

Upon  his  neck  where  all  the  feathers  stand 
Like  petals  of  white  lilies,  smooth  and  white. 

A  Swan  floats  in,  and  greets  Mr.  Crane;  slightly 
nodding  to  the  other  Birds. 

SWAN. 

^Jo0d-evening,  friend,  if  I  have  heard  aright, 
You  meant  to  start  by  early  owlet  light  ? 

SMALL  BIRDS  (impatiently). 
TwitlVtwit  !  Chee  ip !  We  shan't  get  off  to- 


CRANE  (to  the  Swan). 

'T  is  true  that  we  have  been  somewhat  de- 
layed ; 

A  little  unfledged  bird  has  sought  our  aid 
(indicating  Sylvia  by  a  nod  of  his  head). 

She  's  none  of  ours,  and  yet  she  is,  you  '11 
own, 


20  In  Sunshine  Land 

The  sweetest  chick  a  human  nest  has  known  ; 
She  asks  to  go.     How  can  we  leave  her  here 
alone  ? 

SWAN. 

That  must  not  be.     I  '11  be  her  floating  steed, 
And  in  my  beak  I  '11  take  this   long  green 

reed 

For  bit,  and  give  the  rein  into  her  hand  ;  — 
And  so  we  '11  sail  above  the  sea  and  land  ! 


IV 


Sylvia  and  the  Swan  converse,  while  the  other  Birds 
are  making  final  preparations  for  flight.  It  grows 
late,  and  the  stars  come  out. 


SYLVIA. 

How  good  you  are,  dear  Swan  —  how  kind 

and  good  ! 

I  'd  try  to  thank  you,  if  I  ever  could  ! 
{Confidentially^}      Ipfcase,    may    I    tell    you 

something  -^^rou  won't  mind  ? 
You  do  look  like  the  Swan  I  fed  with  cake, 
In  Central  Park,  —  the  Swan  upon  the  lake  ! 


SWAN. 


Hush  !  hush  !  I  was  a  doleful  captive  then, 
But  I  escaped  the  tiresome  haunts  of  men  ! 


SYLVIA. 


Oh,  tell  me  — 


22  In  Sunshine  Land 

SWAN. 

No,  not  now,  my  little  maid, 
Climb  up !   Climb  up !    the  light  begins  to 

fade! 

But  all  the  stars  are  out  —  no  fear  of  rain. 
All  's   well.     Now,  give  the   signal,  Father 

Crane. 

The  little  folks,  as  we  rise  on  the  wing, 
Will  try  that  parting-song  they  always  sing. 

The  little  Birds  on  the  Crane's  back  sing,  one  by  one 
dropping  off  to  sleep,  as  the  Crane  sails  steadily 
along.  Sylvia  is  carried  by  the  Swan. 

CHORUS  OF   LITTLE   BIRDS. 

To  wing  !  to  wing  !  to  wing  ! 

Whit  tu  !  whit  tu  ! 
Up  from  the  earth  we  spring  ; 
Summer  has  gone,  and  we,  too, 
Must  say  adieu  — 
Whit  tu ! 

To  weet !  to  weet !  to  weet ! 
To  where  ?  to  where  ? 
The  breath  of  the  summer  is  sweet, 
But  chill  is  the  wintry  air, 


In  Sunshine  Land  23 

And  the  forests  are  bare  — 
To  where  ? 

Oh  when  ?  oh  when  ?  oh  when  ? 

I  ween  !  I  ween  !  I  ween  ! 
We  go,  but  we  '11  come  again  ! 
When  the  land  is  smiling  and  green, 

We  '11  be  heard  and  be  seen  — 
I  ween  ! 

The  whole  Flock  move  swiftly  on,  increasing  their 
speed  every  moment.  The  Swan  with  Sylvia  leaves 
the  others  far  below. 

SYLVIA  (a  little  anxiottsly). 
Shall  we  go  on,  and  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
Till  we  are  up  among  the  stars,  dear  Swan  ? 
Because  — 

SWAN. 

What  if  we  do  ?  I  often  roam 
Far  up  in  Heaven,  to  visit  my  old  home. 
How  often  you  have  seen  me  shining  there, 
Among  the  Constellations  !     Then  I  wear 
Two  stars  in  place  of  eyes !    Why  do  you 
weep? 


24  In  Suns/iine  Land 

SYLVIA  (crying  softly), 
Because  my  mother  — 

SWAN  (interrupting  her,  and  always  flying  faster). 

Pretty,  soft,  white  sheep 
On  Heaven's  hillside  you  shall  have,  to  keep  ; 
You  '11  be  a  little  shepherdess  in  blue, 
And  the  bright  moon  will  always  smile  on 

you ! 
Why  don't  you  want  to  go  ? 

SYLVIA. 

Because  — 

SWAN  (looking  towards  his  old  home). 

Well,  why? 

SYLVIA. 

Because  —     O  mother ! 

Sylvia  wakes ;  her  mother  comes  to  her. 

MOTHER. 

There,  there,  there,  don't  cry ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  25 

SYLVIA. 

The  Swan !    I  thought  that  we  were  going 

south  — 

I  thought  —  I  pulled  the  bridle  in  his  mouth  ; 
'T  was  lonesome,  without  you,  in  Heaven  !  — 

The  Swan  — 
O  mother,  did  you  know  where  I  had  gone  ? 

MOTHER. 

There,  tell  me  in  the  morning  —  it  will  keep  ; 
There,  dear !  hold  mother's  hand  and  go  to 
sleep. 

(Stofft.) 

Fly  east,  fly  west  — 
Fly  home,  to  rest, 

And  mother  will  sing  you  a  song  of  sleep ! 
Sleep  in  the  nest 
With  white  curtains  dressed, 
Till  sunbeams  in  at  the  window  peep. 

Sylvia  falls  asleep. 


26  In  Sunshine  Land 


HOW   SPRING   AND   WINTER   MET 


[HE  Winter  and  the  Spring  were 

met : 

The  Winter  threw  a  fleecy  net, 
And  caught  the  young  Spring  over-night. 
He  put  to  sleep  the  budding  tree 
Within  a  cloister  dim  and  white  ; 
And  the  little  golden  crocus  flower, 
That  comes  too  early  for  the  bee, 
He  hid  away  from  sunrise  hour. 
The  brook  was  conscious  of  his  power, 
And  lost  its  trick  of  babbling  words. 

But  Spring  awoke,  despite  his  craft, 
And  out  of  window  looked  and  laughed. 

At  first  he  set  to  sing  all  birds, 

With  twittering  voices  small  and  clear, 

And  bade  them  say  they  felt  no  grief 


In  Sunshine  Land  27 

To  find  the  snow  and  mildewed  leaf 
Heaped  up  in  nests  they  built  last  year. 
Then  from  a  crystal  alcove  high, 
The  bluebird  caroled  to  the  sky. 
The  robin  whistled,  cheer,  good  cheer  ! 
The  sparrow  rung  his  matin  bells, 
And  far  away  in  reedy  dells 
The  quail  a  friendly  greeting  sent. 

Then  was  the  stifled  pine  not  loth 
To  shuffle  off  the  dull  white  sloth  ; 
Then  leaped  the  brook  by  icy  stair, 
And  snapped  his  fetters  as  he  went ; 
The  sun  shone  out,  most  full  and  fair, 
And  Winter  rose  and  struck  his  tent. 


28 


In  Sunshine  Land 


A   HANGING   GARDEN 

T  was  an  empty  robins'  nest 
Left  over  from  last  year  ! 
And  yet  it  held  a  tender  guest, 
That  wept  a  dewdrop  tear. 


It  turned  its  eye  upon  the  sky  - 
The  wind  the  tear  brushed  off ; 

And  when  the  sun  came  out  on  high, 
Its  elfin  cap  't  would  doff. 

The  guest  —  't  was  but  a  chickweed  flower, 

The  tiniest  ever  seen  — 
Made  of  the  robins'  nest  a  bower, 

And  kept  their  memory  green. 

Who  knows  how  there  the  seedling  grew, 
With  leaves  and  flowering  stem  ?  — 

So  long  ago  the  robins  flew, 
You  cannot  ask  of  them  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  29 


ROBIN'S   RETURN 

OBIN  on  the  tilting  bough, 
Redbreast  rover,  tell  me  how 
You  the  weary  time  have  passed 
Since  we  saw  and  heard  you  last. 


"  In  a  green  and  pleasant  land, 
By  a  summer  sea-breeze  fanned, 
Orange-trees  with  fruit  are  bent,  — 
There  the  weary  time  I  've  spent." 

Robin  rover,  there,  no  doubt, 
Your  best  music  you  poured  out ; 
Piping  to  a  stranger's  ear, 
You  forgot  your  lovers  here. 

"  Little  lady,  on  my  word, 
You  do  wrong  a  true-heart  bird  ! 
Not  one  ditty  would  I  sing, 
'Mong  the  leaves  or  on  the  wing, 
In  the  sun  or  in  the  rain  ; 
Stranger's  ear  would  list  in  vain. 
If  I  ever  tried  a  note, 
Something  rose  within  my  throat. 


3°  In  Sunshine  Land 

"  'T  was  because  my  heart  was  true 
To  the  North  and  spring-time  new ; 
My  mind's  eye  a  nest  could  see 
In  yon  old,  forked  apple-tree  !  " 


In  Sunshine  Land  31 


FAR   IN   THE   WOODS    IN    MAY 

|AR  in  the  woods,  the  fresh  green 

woods  in  May, 
Once  sang  a  bird  ;  but  all  it  found 

to  say 
Was  "  Keep  it  !  keep  it  !  "  all  the  merry  day. 

The  bird  ?  I  never  saw  it,  no,  not  I ! 
I  followed,  but  it  flitted  far  on  high  ; 
And  "  Keep  it !  keep   it !  "  —  Echo   caught 
the  cry. 

I  was  so  glad  as  through  the  woods  I  went  ! 
And  now  I  think  that  "  Keep  it  !  keep  it ! " 

meant, 
"  Child,     keep     each     happy    thought     that 

Heaven  has  sent." 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE   CAT-BIRD 

E  sits  on  a  branch  of  yon  blossom- 
ing bush, 
This  madcap  cousin  of  robin  and 

thrush, 
And    sings  without  ceasing    the 

whole  morning  long  ; 
Now  wild,  now  tender,  the  wayward  song 
That    flows   from    his    soft,  gray,  fluttering 

throat ; 

But  often  he  stops  in  his  sweetest  note, 
And,  shaking  a  flower  from  the  blossoming 

bough, 
Drawls  out,  "  Mi-eu,  mi-ow !  " 

Dear  merry  mocker,  your  mimic  art 

Makes  drowsy  Grimalkin  awake  with  a  start, 


In  Sunshine  Land  33 

And  peer  all  around  with  a  puzzled  air  — 
For  who  would  suppose  that  one  would  dare 
To  mimic  the  voice  of  a  mortal  foe  ! 
You  're  safe  on  the  bough,  as  well  you  know  ; 
And  if  ever  a  bird  could  laugh,  't  is  you, 
Drawling,  "  Mi-ow,  mi-eu  !  " 


PRAISE  JUNE 

| RAISE  June! 
Morning  and  noon, 
And  when  the  day  closes  ; 
Praise  her  for  roses, 
The  tame  and  the  wild, 
Queen  of  the  garden,  and  sweet-brier's  child  ! 
Praise  June ! 

Praise  for  the  clover,  — 

The  gypsy,  the  rover, 

The  nurse  of  the  bee 

By  wayside  and  lea ! 

Praise  for  the  splendor 

Of  those  that  attend  her,  — 

The  oriole's  breast, 

And  the  butterfly  dressed 


34  In  Sunshine  Land 

From  the  booths  of  the  East ! 
For  songs,  and  a  feast, 
In  the  strawberry  meadow, 
Where  grass  throws  a  shadow, 
Where  bobolinks,  swinging, 
Keep  time  with  their  singing  ; 
For  the  purple  flag  blowing, 
Where  slow  streams  are  flowing  ; 
For  the  long  day's  light, 
And  the  murmuring  night, 
When  nests  overcrowded, 
With  dewy  leaves  shrouded, 
Pipe  a  short  tune, 
When  the  wind  through  the  trees  makes  a 

path  for  the  mooji ! 
Praise  June ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  35 


ROBIN'S    SHARE 

N  the  grass,  where  no  one  knows, 
Sweetest  there  the  berry  grows, 
Fuller  cups  of  dew  it  drinks, 

More  of  sun  into  it  sinks, 

Spicier  breezes  visit  there, 

And  June  gives  it  kindlier  care. 

Why  look  out  to  plough  and  sow  ? 
Why  to  market  should  I  go  ? 
Far-brought  dainties  tempt  me  not ! 
Here  's  a  thrifty  garden-plot, 
Here  where  fields  have  run  to  waste. 
Wilding  berries  suit  my  taste  ; 
Though  the  robin  gathers  half, 
(Ripest  halves  !)  I  only  laugh  : 
June  that  spread  this  feast  for  me, 
Bade  poor  robin,  too,  make  free  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


EPITAPH    FOR   ROBIN    REDBREAST 

HOU  shalt  have  a  little  bed 
Made  for  thee,  and  overspread 
With  brown  leaves  for  coverlet, 
Which  the  tearful  dew  has  wet. 
I,  among  the  songs  of  Spring 
Will  miss  the  song  thou  didst  not  sing. 


In  Sunshine  Land  37 


TITANIA'S    PEN 

HUMMING-BIRD  had  plumed 
his  wing 

With  nice  fastidious  bill, 
And  Oberon,  the  fairy  king, 

Picked  up  a  fallen  quill. 


Quoth  he,  "  Of  this  I  '11  make  a  pen, 

The  neatest  ever  seen." 
He  trimmed  the  tiny  quill,  and  then 

He  gave  it  to  his  queen. 

The  fair  Titania  wrote  a  book 
With  this  same  elfin  quill ; 

The  dainty  pen  —  I  have  it,  look  ! 
The  book  I  search  for  still. 


38  In  Sunshine  Land 

Perhaps  't  is  hid  among  the  ferns, 

Or  in  some  squirrel's  cell, 
Or  from  its  leaves  the  young  bird  learns 

In  easy  notes  to  spell. 


In  Suns /line  Land 


39 


stM*-*"y^ifc/ 


-V«sitiftn£"»" 


THE   QUAIL'S    NEST 

A   TRUE    INCIDENT 

ANY  a  foot  in  the  rustling  meadow 
Strode      onward     and      never 

stayed  ; 

In  place  of  the  harvester's  swing- 
ing sickle, 

Flashed  many  a  warlike  blade  ; 
While  here  a  plume,  and  there  a  banner, 

On  the  stream  of  the  light  wind  swayed. 

The  brooding  mother  of  nestlings  many 

Called  them  again  and  again, 
And  her  heart  beat  fast  with  fear  and  sorrow, 

For  the  mother-call  was  vain, 
As  on  their  callow  wings  they  fluttered  — 

Up  from  the  grassy  plain  — 


4°  In  SiinsJiine  Land 

Fluttered,    and    wavered,   and   would    have 
fallen, 

But,  as  on  the  battalion  pressed, 
Many  a  soldier,  grim  or  smiling, 

Welcomed  a  downy  guest, 
And  under  his  blouse  of  blue  was  sheltered 

The  waif  from  a  ruined  nest. 

"Tis  a  sign  of  good  luck!  "  cried  one  blithe 

spirit, 

"  'T  is  a  sign  we  shall  win  the  day  !  " 
And  one,  as  he  shielded  the  fluttering  tru- 
ant, 

Thought  of  nestlings  far  away. 
Then    they  all  swept  on  where,   under  the 

smoke-wreath, 
The  fire  of  the  battle  lay. 

At  evening  the  heavy  heart  of  a  soldier 

Under  his  blouse  grew  light, 
When  he  saw  how  the  quail-mother's  sleepy 

darling 

Had  folded  its  wings  for  the  night  :  — 
'T  was  the  soldier  who  thought  of  his  own 

dear  nestlings 
That  morn,  as  he  entered  the  fight. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


BIRDS   OF  THE   SILKWEED   BROOD 


N   August  the  birds  of  the  silk- 
weed  rest, 

By  fours  and  fives,  round  the  par- 
ent nest ; 
Never  a  note  they  pour  on  the  air, 
Rusty  green  are  the  coats  they  wear  — 
These  birds  of  the  silkweed  brood. 

In  September  they  change  their  rusty  green 
For  the  finest  plumage  ever  was  seen  ; 
Then,  spreading  their  snowy  plumes,  they  fly, 
Silent  and  light,  through  the  hazy  sky  — 
These  birds  of  the  silkweed  brood. 

Now   swift,    now   slow  —  as   the  wind  may 

blow, 
By  meadow  and  stream,  they  come  and  go, 


In  Sunshine  Land 


And  wherever  was  only  one  before, 
Now  you  may  count  a  hundred,  or  more, 
Of  these  birds  of  the  silkweed  brood. 


WINTER  COMRADES 

LUME  and  go,  ye  summer  folk  ; 
Fly  from  Winter's  killing  stroke, 
Bluebird,  sparrow,  thrush,  and 

swallow ; 
Wild  geese  from  the  marshes  fol- 
low, 

Wood-dove  from  the  lonesome  hollow, 
Rise,  and  follow  south  —  all  follow  ! 

Now  I  greet  ye,  hardy  tribes, 
That  refuse  the  southland's  bribes  ; 
Snowy  owl,  and  night-black  crow 
Startling  with  your  wild  halloo  ; 
Blue-jay  screaming  like  the  wind 
In  the  tree-tops  gaunt  and  thinned  ; 
You,  in  summer  called  "  Bob  White  " 
(Voice  of  far-off  fields'  delight), 
Now  among  the  barnyard  brood 
Fearless  searching  for  your  food  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land  45 

Nuthatch,  snowbird,  chickadee, 
Downy  tapper  on  the  tree  ; 
And  you  twittering  goldfinch  drove 
(Masked  in  gray),  that  blithely  rove 
Where  the  herby  pastures  show 
Tables  set  above  the  snow  ; 
And  ye  other  flocks  that  ramble 
Where  the  red  hip  trims  the  bramble, 
Or  the  rowan  berry  bright 
And  the  scarlet  haw  invite  — 
Winter  comrades,  well  betide  ye, 
Friendly  trunk  and  hollow  hide  ye, 
Hemlock  branches  interlace, 
When  the  northern  blast  gives  chase. 

And  ye  four-foot  creatures  small, 
Fortune  fair  to  you  befall ! 
Mice  that  visit  to  and  fro 
In  your  runways  'neath  the  snow  ; 
You  that  oft  our  granaries  seek  — 
Chuckling  thief  with  pouched  cheek ; 
Squirrel  gray  or  squirrel  red, 
Who,  from  branches  overhead, 
Down  the  riddled  nutshell  flings  ; 
And  ye  timid,  wind-fleet  things, 
That  our  tender  fruit-trees  spoil 


46  In  Sunshine  Laud 

With  your  nibbling  midnight  toil, 
When  the  Yule-tide  fire  is  low, 
And  the  Yule  stars  keenest  glow  ; 
And  ye  quiet  citizens, 
That  keep  closer  in  your  dens, 
Without  window,  without  latch  ; 
Muskrat  under  reedy  thatch  ; 
Woodchuck, — you  that  sleeping  pass 
All  the  time  till  Candlemas, 
When  you  rise  and  promptly  show 
Weather-signs  you  only  know  ; 
Winter  comrades,  snugly  furred, 
Warmly  feathered,  beast  and  bird, 
Thus  I  greet  ye,  — wish  ye  cheer, 
Now  at  midnight  of  the  year  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


47 


THE  VESPER-SPARROW 

T  comes  from  childhood  land, 

Where  summer  days  are  long 
And  summer  eves  are  bland,  — 
A  lulling  good-night  song. 

Upon  a  pasture  stone, 

Against  the  fading  west, 
A  small  bird  sings  alone, 

Then  dives  and  finds  its  nest. 


The  evening  star  has  heard, 

And  flutters  into  sight ; 
O  childhood's  vesper-bird, 

My  heart  calls  back,  Good  Night. 


THE   SINGING   TREES 


IN    THE    ORCHARD 

HITE  are  the  singing  trees, 
And  every  breath  of  the  breeze 
Scatters  a  drift  of  bloom 
And  a  honey-sweet  perfume ; 
While  above  and  all  around 
Is  a  gentle  murmuring  sound. 

In  this  music  so  low  and  sweet 
Labor  and  pleasure  meet ; 
Every  small  minstrel  goes  home, 
And  adds  to  the  great  yellow  comb 
Stored  for  the  midwinter  feast, 
When  the  gift  of  the  flowers  has  ceased. 
Hark  to  the  singing  trees, 
So  full  of  blossoms  and  bees  ! 


5  2  In  Sunshine  Land 


THE    ANCIENT    HISTORY   OF    THE 
FLOWERS 

|HE    Mayflower,    with    her    little 

rosy  feet, 
Ran  out  to  meet  the  Spring,  all 

sweet  and  shy. 
Blue  Violets  in  the  meadow  had 

their  seat, 

Where  they  could  see  their  home,  the  azure 
sky. 

The  Windflower  was  a  wandering  child  of  air, 
She  came  upon  the  soft  wind  from  the  south  ; 
She  had  fine  garments  given  her  to  wear, 
In  color  like  a  sea-shell's  curling  mouth. 

A  country  lass  that  never  dared  look  up, 
The  Trillium  in  the  shadow  chose  to  grow. 
The  Dandelion  and  the  Buttercup 
Were  touched  by  Midas'  finger  long  ago. 

The  Primrose  slipped  away  from  moonlight 

land, 
All  faint  and  wan,  delicious  with  the  dew, 


In  Sunshine  Land  53 

And    would    not     open     till    a    moonbeam 

spanned 
The  evening  dusk,  and  tender  kisses  threw. 

The  Water-lily  was  a  naiad's  child  ; 

The    Bindweed   was   a   wanderer    pale   and 

worn  ; 

The  pleading  Rose,  upon  the  bramble  wild, 
A  captive  maiden  looking  forth  forlorn. 

The  red  Lobelia  lit  a  fire,  and  flung 
The  embers  all  around  a  shady  dell  ; 
The  Daisy  had  a  gypsy's  crafty  tongue, 
And  youthful  fortunes  glibly  would  she  tell ! 

The  Asters  were  a  shower  of  stars  that  fell 
Amid  the  dimness  of  an  autumn  night. 
Witch-hazel  woke,  and  cheerly  cried,  "  All 's 

well !  " 
And   met  with  smiles   the   dull    November 

light. 


54  In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  WHISPER   OF   THE   LEAVES 


HEAR  the  voice  of  Summer 
Above  the  voice  of  Spring  ; 

The  birds  are  still  beside  it, 
How  loud  soe'er  they  sing. 


I  hear  the  voice  of  Summer  — 
And  yet  't  is  small  and  weak, 

Soft,  light,  and  all  uncertain, 

As  though  a  flower  should  speak  ! 

But  yesterday  't  was  silent,  — 
The  trees  were  gray  and  bare  ; 

To-day  a  myriad  murmur 
Is  floating  everywhere. 

It  comes  with  dappling  shadows 
.    Through  which  the  sunbeam  weaves ; 
It  draws  its  breath  from  zephyr  — 
This  whisper  of  the  leaves  ! 

I  know  not  it  rejoices, 
I  know  not  if  it  grieves  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land  5 5 

It  has  no  tone  nor  accent,  — 
This  whisper  of  the  leaves. 

I  heard  it,  far  in  dreamland, 

On  bitter  winter  eves,  — 
The  wished-for  voice  of  Summer,  — 

The  whisper  of  the  leaves  ! 


56  In  Sunshine  Land 


WHAT   THE   ROSES    SAID 


TOLD  the  roses   that  bloomed 

in  my  garden 
A  tale  they  were  loth  to  hear ; 

Of  thorns  uncovered,  of  frosts, 

and  of  Winter,  — 
The  crabbed  old  age  of  the  year ! 

The   darlings  of  June — they  wouldn't  be- 
lieve me ! 

They  asked  what  proof  I  could  show ; 
Would  I  bring  but  a  shred  of  the  robe  of 

Winter ; 
A  lock  from  the  fleece  of  the  snow  ? 

Year  after  year   they  had    bloomed  in  my 

garden, 
And  never  such  change  had  they  seen  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land  57 

It  was  true  they  had  slept,  but,  as  oft  as  they 

wakened, 
The  season  was  smiling  and  green  ! 


"  STAY   SO,    SWEET   SEASON  " 

A  SPRING   SONG 

WISH     that    the    feet    of    the 

dancing  child  — 
April  that  trips  to  the  wind-flute 

wild  — 

Could  be  stayed  from  their  mo- 
tion, and  rest  awhile 
Till  the  showery  sky  shall  wear  a  smile, 
Till  the  thrush   calls  twice,  and  the  crocus 

looks  up 

And  invites  the  bee  with  her  honeyed  cup  ! 
Sweet,  sweet,  you  've  no  reason 

To  hurry  away  ; 
Stay  so,  sweet  Season, 
Stay,  oh  stay !    * 

And  I  wish  that  the  May  with  her  fair  cool 

face 
Might  linger  awhile  in  her  native  place, 


58  In  Suns/line  Land 

Till  the  fruit  and  the  thorn  tree  reach  her 

down 
A   handful    of    blossoms,    to   weave    her    a 

crown  ; 

But  the  blossoms  around  her  unheeded  fall, — 
She  listens  —  she  follows  some  far-off  call ! 
Sweet,  sweet,  you  've  no  reason 

To  hurry  away  ; 
Stay  so,  sweet  Season, 
Stay,  oh  stay ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


61 


BLUEBELL   HOLLOW 

HERE  'S  a  fairy  in  Blue-bell  Hol- 
low 
Who  wakes  in  the  spring  of  the 

year; 

She  calls  and  the  children  hear, 
She  calls,  and  the  children  follow 
Down  Blue-bell  Hollow. 
There  the  flowers  are  blue, 
And  so  is  the  dew 
That  hangs  in  their  bells, 
And  the  little  brook  too,  — 
Half-hidden  from  view, 
Is  of  just  the  same  hue :  — 


62  In  Sunshine  Land 


All  done  by  the  spells 
Of  the  fairy  who  dwells 
In  Blue-bell  Hollow  ! 


THE  WORRIED  VIOLET 

Y  woodside  ways,  in  moist  green 

nooks, 
A   small    pale   violet    holds    its 

place  ; 
Three    lines    are    in    its    tender 

face  — 
How  careworn  and  how  sad  it  looks  ! 

While  every  other  violet 
Blooms  thoughtless  in  the  shade  or  sun, 
What  secret  has  this  little  one, 
What  trouble  it  cannot  forget  ? 


In  Sunshine  Land  63 

"INNOCENCE" 

VERSES    SENT   WITH    BLUETS    TO    A    LITTLE   GIRL 

| FIELD  I  met  a  darling  crowd 
Of  blossom-children  sweet, 
(Dear  Mother  Nature  must  be 

proud, 

These  children  keep  so  neat)  ; 
So  thick  they  stood,  I  cried  aloud, 
"  I  dare  not  move  my  feet !  " 

Their  dresses  all  were  like  the  sky 
When  clouds  have  filmed  the  blue, 

And  each  one  had  a  sunny  eye, 
And  Heaven-secrets  knew ; 

But  some,  not  wide  awake,  or  shy, 
Their  heads  bent  down  from  view. 

I  touched  the  tallest  in  a  row  : 
"  Dear  heart  !  your  name  I  'd  call, 

If  you  your  name  would  please  to  show." 
A  voice  came  faint  and  small  : 

"My  name  I  truly  do  not  know  ; 
I  'm  Innocence,  —  that 's  all  !  " 


64  In  Sunshine  Land 

Now,  there's  a  child-flower  soft  and  bright, 

And  Innocence  is  she  ; 
I  thought  these  blossom-children  might 

Her  very  sisters  be  ; 
And  so  I  sent  them,  blue  and  white, 

To  Dorothea  G. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  SIGN   OF  THE  GOLDENROD 

HEN  Indian  corn  is  in  the  shock, 
And   south-bound  birds  begin 

to  flock, 

And  seed-plumes  fly,  and  gossa- 
mer drifts, 
Then  goldenrod  its  sign  uplifts. 

Its  healthful  breath  is  in  the  air  ; 
Its  stores  the  tame  and  wild  bees  share  ; 
Lone  country  roads  and  woodward  lanes 
It  decks  as  if  for  kingly  trains. 

The  farmer's  boy  will  often  stop 
To  pull  a  plume  of  "  yellow-top," 
And  little  children  fill  their  arms 
With  this  free  treasure  of  the  farms. 


66  In  Sunshine  Land 

It  blooms  for  all  —  it  shines  for  me  ! 
Since  near  or  far  I  can  but  see 
A  sunlight  stolen  from  the  past, 
A  gleam  from  days  too  blithe  to  last. 


THE   FLOWER  OF  THE  THISTLE 


'M  a  queen  of  pride  and  splendor, 
Throne  and  purple  lack  not  I  ; 

Never  yet  I  made  surrender, 
Foe  and  lover  I  defy  ! 


Never  shall  the  red-mouthed  cattle 
Crop  me  like  the  simple  grass  ; 

Arms  presented  I  give  battle, 
If  a  step  too  near  they  pass. 

Yet  I  've  friends  to  make  me  merry ; 

I  have  bribes  to  win  the  bee ; 
My  fine  bird,  the  wild  canary, 

Tips  his  jaunty  cap  to  me. 

In  the  Autumn  I  go  sailing, 
Up,  and  out  of  sight  of  men, 


In  Sunshine  Land  67 

Till  the  lazy  zephyr  failing 
Lets  me  down  to  earth  again. 

I  'm  a  queen  of  pride  and  splendor, 
Throne  and  purple  lack  not  I  ; 

You  may  call  me  wild,  untender, 
You  may  praise,  or  pass  me  by ! 


A   NATURAL   MATHEMATICIAN 

HERE    dwells    mid    thorns    and 

viny  tangles, 

In  freakish  colors  dressed, 
A  sage  who  dotes  on  curves  and 

angles 

And  many  a  curious  test, 
Yet  ne'er  was  found  in  learned  wrangles, 
And  ne'er  was  known  to  jest. 

Pose  him  with  line  or  conic  section  ! 

To  demonstrate  its  laws 
And  show  their  close  and  fine  connection, 

He  sets  about  and  draws 
With  noiseless  care  and  shrewd  inspection 

Some  shimmering  threads  of  gauze. 


68  fn  Sunshine  Land 


To  close  a  circle  in  triangle, 
He  thinks  no  great  affair  — 

Straight  out  from  thorn  and  viny  tangle, 
'T  is  sketched  upon  the  air, 

And  floats,  a  filmy  silver  spangle 
For  bright-eyed  Morn  to  wear  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


69 


THE   STOLEN    PANSIES 

HE  reached  through  the  fence  (if 

the  truth  must  be  told), 
And  her  chubby  hands  had  all 

they  could  hold  ! 
But  she  never  in  all  her  life  before, 
Had  seen  the  faces  these  pansies  wore ! 
One  looked  like  an  urchin,  a  smirch  on  its 

cheek, 

And  it  said  as  plainly  as  pansy  could  speak, 
"  It 's  stealing,  you  know,  and  I  '11  tell  the 

whole  town  !  " 

One,  like  an  ogre,  wore  a  dark  frown, 
And   looked   at   her   hard  with  its  terrible 

eye, 

"  Little  girl,  you  dare  not  look  up  to  the 
sky !  " 


7°  In  Sunshine  Land 

One  drooped  its  sweet  head,  reproachful,  yet 

mild, 
"  You  Ve   killed    me,  but  I  '11    forgive   you, 

poor  child !  " 
Then  they  all  looked  at  her,  and  looked  at 

each  other, 

"  You  bad  little  girl, 
You  sad  little  girl, 
Leave  us  !  run  home,  —  run  home  to  your 

mother !  " 


THE   BUTTERFLY   AND   THE   BEE 

FROM    THE    FRENCH 

|F  the  weather  is  fair," 
Said    the   butterfly,   jaunty   and 

free,  — 

"  If  the  weather  is  fair, 
I  '11    go    dance    in    the   meadow 

there !  " 

"  And  I,"  said  the  prudent  bee, 
"  Will  be  early  at  work,  you  will  see,  — 
If  the  weather  is  fair !  " 


In  Sunshine  Land 


BUTTERFLY   AND   THISTLE-BALL 

AINTED    WINGS  hailed   Silver 

Sphere, 

Riding  through  the  heavens  clear  : 
"  O  you  lovely  fragile  waif, 
Without  wings  to  make  you  safe, 
Tell  me  how  it  is  you  dare 
Seek  your  fortunes  through  the  air !  " 

Silver  Sphere  touched  Painted  Wings 
Softly,  in  their  wanderings  : 
"  Nay,  but  tell  me,  traveler  fine, 
How,  without  a  wheel  like  mine, 
You  can  venture  as  you  do 
Up  the  wide  and  breezy  blue !  " 


7 2  In  Sunshine  Land 


BUTTERFLY   HONEY 


EY,  my  gay  rover  ! 

Skimming    the    crest    of    the 

clover, 
Happy-go-lucky,  ne'er-do-weel 

fellow, 

Idlest  of  creatures  alive  !  — 
Why  not  provide  you  a  hive, 
And   store   it  with  good  things   dulcet  and 

mellow  ? 
I  '11  come,  by  and  by,  to  see  how  you  thrive. 

ii 

For  butterfly  honey 
Is  rarer  than  Oberon's  money  : 
I  've  heard  of   a  few  that  found  the  bright 

penny, 

But  if  ever  you  left  one  sip 
Of  sweet  on  a  petal's  tip, 
At  least,  't  was  never  my  luck  to  find  any, 
Though  searching  the  blossom  from  heart  to 
lip. 


In  Sunshine  Land  73 


in 

'T  will  be  my  good  pleasure 
To  come  and  partake  of  your  treasure  ; 
Wine  o'  the  lilac  and  daffydowndilly, 
And  all  the  dainties  you  found, 
Making  your  May-morning  round, 
And  midsummer  thefts  from  the  rose  and 

the  lily  : 

With    goldenrod    cordial    the  feast    shall  be 
crowned. 


IV 


(The  Butterfly  replies^ 

Ha,  ha  !  but  I  'm  wiser 
Than  you,  my  thoughtful  adviser,  - 
My    eloquent    friend,  —  my   silver  -  tongued 

suitor ! 

I  am  no  slaving  bee, 
To  pay  you  your  lordly  fee  ! 
Ha,  ha  !  —  a  hive  for  a  gallant  freebooter  ! 
No  honey  of  mine  you  ever  shall  see  ! 


74  In  Sunshine  Land 


OAK  AND   ACORN 

AID  a  stark  and  proud  Oak-tree, 
"  Acorn  do  not  boast  to  me  !  " 
Quick  the  delving  Acorn  spoke, 
"  Don't  despise  me,  Gaffer  Oak  ! ' 


OAK. 
"  Youngling,  look  —  I  seek  the  skies  !  " 

ACORN. 
"  I  go  down,  but  I  will  rise  !  " 

OAK. 
"  I  of  yesterdays  have  store  !  " 

ACORN. 
"  Of  to-morrows  i  have  more  !  " 

OAK. 
"  Many  histories  I  can  tell !  " 

ACORN. 
"  I  of  hopes  can  speak  as  well !  " 


In  Sunshine  Land 


75 


THE   POPLAR-TREE 

WONDER  if  the  poplar-tree 

Is  standing,  as  it  used  to  stand, 
Beside   the   street,   the    first    to 

greet 

The  traveler   to   the  Pleasant 
Land! 


It  seemed  to  see  the  morning  sun 

Before  he  rose  above  the  hill, 
And  the  stars  go  down  behind  the  town 

When    summer    nights    were    clear   and 
still. 


76  In  Sunshine  Land 

And  yet  its  leaves  forever  sighed  — 
I  thought  because  it  stood  alone, 

Alone  and  straight,  outside  the  gate, 
No  sister  tree  to  call  its  own  ! 

And  when  I  left  the  Pleasant  Land, 

And  scarcely  through  my  tears  could  see, 

'T  was  last  to  say,  from  far  away, 
A  sad  and  kind  good-by  to  me. 


JUGGLERS   OF  THE   MOSS 

OME  time  you  will  come  across 
Elfin  jugglers  in  the  moss. 
This  will  be  the  way  they  '11  look 
In  their  shady  forest  nook  : 
Gray-green  faces,  gray -green  hair, 

Gray-green  are  the  clothes  they  wear. 

Some  are  short  and  some  are  tall, 

Light  and  nimble  are  they  all, 

Nodding  this  way,  nodding  that  — 

Pointed  cap  or  plumed  hat  ; 

Now  on  tiptoe  spinning  round, 

Now  with  forehead  to  the  ground  ; 

Bowing  last,  their  hands  they  kiss. 


In  Sunshine  Land  77 


But  the  strangest  thing  is  this, 
Though  you  go  and  come  again, 
In  these  postures  they  remain, 
And  your  movements  never  heed. 
Have  you  seen  them  ?  —  Then,  indeed, 
You  can  say  that  you  have  been 
Where  King  Oberon  and  his  Queen 
Oft  in  summer-time  do  go  — 
To  the  elfin  jugglers'  show. 


AUTUMN    FASHIONS 

HE  Maple  owned  that  she  was  tired 

of  always  wearing  green, 
She  knew  that  she  had  grown,  of 
late,  too  shabby  to  be  seen  ! 


The  Oak  and  Beech  and  Chestnut  then  de- 
plored their  shabbiness, 

And  all,  except  the  Hemlock  sad,  were  wild 
to  change  their  dress. 

"  For  fashion-plate  we  '11  take  the  flowers," 
the  rustling  Maple  said, 

"  And  like  the  Tulip  I  '11  be  clothed  in  splen- 
did gold  and  red  !  " 


78  In  Sunshine  Land 


"  The  cheerful  Sunflower  suits  me  best,"  the 

lightsome  Beech  replied  ; 
"The  Marigold  my  choice  shall  be,"   —the 

Chestnut  spoke  with  pride. 

The  sturdy  Oak  took    time  to   think  —  "I 

hate  such  glaring  hues  ; 
The  Gillyflower,  so  dark  and  rich,  I  for  my 

model  choose." 

So  every  tree  in  all   the  grove,  except  the 

Hemlock  sad, 
According  to  its  wish  ere  long  in  brilliant 

dress  was  clad. 

And  here  they  stand  through  all  the  soft  and 

bright  October  days  ; 
They  wished    to  be  like    flowers  —  indeed, 

they  look  like  huge  bouquets  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


79 


SNOWFLAKES 

HAT  are  you — you  delicate  stray 

things, 

Floating  and  falling 
Through  the  soft  air  ? 
Are  you  some  child-angel's  play- 
things, 

Gone  past  recalling, 
Dropped  unaware  ? 


Did  he,  to  the  stars  a  near  neighbor, 
A  smiling-eyed  dreamer, 
Study  their  form, 

Then  make  you  with  lightest  of  labor  — 
Young  heavenly  schemer 
Above  the  white  storm  ? 


8o 


In  Sunshine  Land 


TALKING    IN   THEIR    SLEEP 

OU  think  I  am  dead," 

The  apple-tree  said, 
"  Because  I  have  never  a  leaf  to 

show  — 
Because  I  stoop, 
And  my  branches  droop, 
And  the  dull  gray  mosses  over  me  grow  ! 
But  I  'm  all  alive  in  trunk  and  shoot ; 
The  buds  of  next  May 
I  fold  away  — 
But  I  pity  the  withered  grass  at  my  root." 

"  You  think  I  am  dead," 

The  quick  grass  said, 

"  Because    I    have    parted   with    stem    and 
blade  ! 

But  under  the  ground 
I  am  safe  and  sound 


In  Sunshine  Land  81 

With  the  snow's  thick  blanket  over  me  laid. 
I  'm  all  alive  and  ready  to  shoot, 

Should  the  spring  of  the  year 

Come  dancing  here  — 

But    I    pity    the   flower   without    branch    or 
root." 

"  You  think  I  am  dead," 

A  soft  voice  said, 
"  Because  not  a  branch  or  root  I  own  ? 

I  never  have  died, 

But  close  I  hide 

In  a  plumy  seed  that  the  wind  has  sown. 
Patient    I    wait    through    the    long    winter 
hours ; 

You  will  see  me  again  — 

I  shall  laugh  at  you  then, 
Out  of  the  eyes  of  a  hundred  flowers. 


"PLAY   WITH    ME" 

HE    Kitten    came   this   morning, 

and  said, 
With  a  touch  of  her  paw  and  a 

turn  of  her  head,  — 
"  Play,  play  with  me  !  " 


And  Skye,  the  terrier,  caught  my  hand, 
And  tried  to  make  me  understand, — 
"  Play,  play  with  me  !  " 

And  Nelly  nipped  my  shoulder  quite  hard, 
And   then    she  went    prancing   around    the 
yard,  — 

"  Play,  play  with  me  ! " 

I  played  with  them  all !  Now,  would  n't  you 
play, 

85 


86  In  Sunshine  Land 

If  a  little  child,  like  me,  should  say, 
"  Play,  play  with  me  ?" 


JOHNNY'S   SISTER   APOLOGIZES 


OOR  Johnny !  he  sat  up  so  straight 

by  the  wall, 
When   uncle    Will's    friend    was 

making  a  call  ; 
He  never  meant  to  be  saucy  at 

all! 
When  the  gentleman  smiled  and  came  over 

his  way, 
I  suppose  Johnny  thought  he  was  going  to 

say, 

"  Now,  tell  me  whose  little  boy  are  you  ? " 
So  he  tried  to  say  something  pleasant,  too  — 
But  dear  me  !  I  did  n't  know  what  I  should 

do, 
When  he  looked  up  and  said,  "  Whose  papa 

are  you  ? " 

I  almost  wished  I  was  deaf  and  blind, 
But  the  gentleman  (he  was  so  very  kind)  — 
He  kept  on  smiling  and  did  n't  mind. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


FRANKNESS 


AKE  a  doughnut,  my  dear,  —  take 

two." 

The  visitor  looked  with  a  wist- 
ful eye 
But  not  at  the  doughnuts  —  ah, 

no  ! 

Her  wishes  were  centred  on  pie  : 
"  I  can  get  doughnuts  at  home," 
The  little  girl  said  with  a  sigh. 


A   CHILD'S   LOGIC 

OWO  eyes  of  a  purple  pansy's  hue, 
Two  eyes  met  mine  in  calm  sur- 
vey. 
"My  child,  I  like  your  eyes  so 

true." 

Then  did  the  little  maiden  say, 
"  If  you  like  my  eyes,  you  like  me  too  !  " 


88 


In  Sunshine  Land 


"GRANDMOTHER'S  GATHERING  BONE- 
SET" 

RANDMOTHER  's       gathering 

boneset  to-day  ; 
In  the  garret  she  '11  dry  and  hang 

it  away. 
Next  winter   I'll    "need"   some 

boneset  tea  — 
I  wish  she  would  n't  think  always  of  me  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


89 


A   BEAR   STORY 

T  story-telling  time  last  night, 

When  all  the  rest  had  done, 
Our  "  Little  Sister  "  (four  years 

old) 
Began,  brimful  with  fun  : 


"  There  was  a  teeny  little  girl,  — 

Not  very  good,  I  'm  'fraid  ; 
She  would  n't  learn  to  read  or  sew, 
But  played,  and  played,  and  played  ! 

"  She  'd  run  away,  —  oh  yes,  she  would,  — 

She  ran  so  far  away 

-A  big  black  bear  came  out  of  the  woods 
And  ate  her  up,  one  day  !  " 

But  here  the  story-teller  paused, 
Round-eyed,  and  out  of  breath,  - 


9°  In  Sunshine  Land 

"  And  then  this  teeny  little  girl 

Ran  home,  'most  scared  to  death  !" 

"  Oh,  ho  !  ha,  ha  !  "  the  children  laughed 

(And  so,  I  think,  would  you)  ; 
But  "  Little  Sister  "  gravely  said  : 
"  You  need  n't  laugh,  it 's  true." 

"  But  when  the  bear  had  eat  her  up, 

You  know  it  couldn't  be," 
"  He  did  n't  eat  her  every  bit,  "  — 

He  left  her  feet,  you  see  !  " 


LITTLE   SISTER   REHEARSES 

WISH  that  the  poet  who  wrote 

these  verses 
Could  see  Little  Sister  when  she 

rehearses  ; 
For  she  is  a  poem,  all  in  herself, 
The  gay  little,  grave  little,  whimsical  elf! 

She  begins  with  a  birdlike  start  and  flutter  — 
With  just    the  same   air    does  the    sparrow 
utter 


In  Sunshine  Land  91 


His  own  small  song  in  the  lilac  close  by  — 
The  same  arch  way  with  his  head  and   his 
eye  ! 

The  voice    of   the  bird  is  no  sweeter  —  no 

clearer ; 
He  stops   in  the  midst  of  his  song  to  hear 

her, 
And   the   morning   sunbeam    and    morning 

air 
Together  come  in  to  kiss  her  soft  hair. 

Some  of   the  words  are  too  hard  —  't  is  no 

matter  : 

Just  as  a  brook  with  musical  chatter 
Glides  over  its  pebbles  and  never  trips, 
So  over  the  hard  words  smoothly  she  slips. 

Some  of  the  thoughts  no  doubt  are  beyond 

her; 
But  of  gowns  with  long  trains  Little  Sister 

is  fonder 

Than  of  frock  and  pinafore  worn  every  day  ; 
And  "  grown-up  thoughts  "  please  in  just  the 

same  way. 


92  In  Sunshine  Land 

As  her  voice  ripples  on,  as  her  bright  eye 
glances, 

'T  is  plain  to  be  seen  Little  Sister  has  fan- 
cies 

No  more  to  be  caught  than  the  morning  air 

And  morning  sunbeam  that  kiss  her  soft 
hair. 


THE  LITTLE  VERSE  AT  THE  FOOT  OF 
THE  PAGE 

'M  the  toddling  child  at  the  foot 
of  the  page, 

•  But  I  sing  like  a  wren,  or  a  lin- 
net ; 

All  smile  when  they  see  me  come 

on  the  stage, 
I  sing,  —  and  am  gone  in  a  minute  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  93 


OUR   FOUR-FOOTED    FRIENDS   IN 
SPECTACLES 

LD  Tabby,  watching  at  a  mouse- 
hole, 
Looks    wondrous    shrewd    and 

wondrous  wise, 
And  well  may  mice  be  shy  and 

cautious, 
For  she  has  glasses  on  her  eyes. 

And  Rover  leaps  and  frolics  wildly, 
When  his  young  master  hunting  goes, 

But  waits  to  have  his  spec's  adjusted 
Upon  his  black  and  honest  nose. 

And  Dobbin  now  turned  out  to  pasture  — 
Poor  Dobbin's  sight  is  growing  dim  — 

Stands  by  the  gate  and  whinnies  loudly 
Till  some  one  brings  his  spec's  to  him. 

And  mother  Crumple,  so  near-sighted, 
Could  never  find  her  frisky  calf 

Without  those  precious  gold-rimmed  glasses 
That  make  her  pretty  Daisy  laugh. 


94  In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  MOLE 

[ELL  all  your  wise  men  who  pro- 
nounce me  blind, 
Mine  eyes  are  good,  though  small 

and  hard  to  find,  — 
Yet,   even  so,   serve  better  than 

their  own, 

Else  they  had  looked,  nor  said  that   I  have 
none ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


95 


WHAT  THE  LAMBS    SAY 

AID  the  little  shepherdess, 
"  Many  wise  folk  cannot  guess 
What  the  lambs  say  when  they 

cry, 
Or  what  the  old  sheep  do  reply." 

Can  you  tell  ?  (I  asked).     "  Oh  yes  !  " 
Said  the  little  shepherdess  : 
"  All  the  young  lambs  say,  '  Ma-a  !  ma-a  ! ' 
All  the  old  sheep  answer,  '  Ba-a  ! ' 

"  If  a  stranger  comes  this  way, 
Or  the  young  ones,  in  their  play, 


96  In  Sunshine  Land 


From  their  tender  mothers  stray, 

And  go  searching  all  around 

Every  stone  and  bushy  mound, 

Then  the  young  lambs  cry,  '  Ma-a  !  ma-a ! ' 

But  their  mothers'  answer,  '  Ba-a  ! '  - 

Just  to  shame  them  when  they  cry, 

Silly  lambs  to  be  so  shy  ! " 


STRAY   CHILDREN 

[ISSING    my    darling,     I     called 

through  the  hall, 
"  Where   are   you  ?    Where   are 
you,  my  little  stray  lamb  ?  " 
A  moment's  pause  and  she  an- 
swered my  call 

In  a  slow,  soft  voice  so  plaintive  and  small, 
"  Find  me,  I  do  not  know  where  I  am." 

So  vast  is  that  circle  we  call  the  sky, 
Though  God,  we  trust,  holds    the  world  in 

His  palm, 

Well  may  each  little,  lonely  child  cry, 
And  so,  though  grown  older,  may  you  and  I, 
"  Father,  I  do  not  know  where  I  am  ! " 


In  Sunshine  Land 


97 


AGNES 

LL  round  the  yard  the  morning 

through, 
Her  mother  watched  her  at  her 

play; 
The     blooming     lilacs     dropped 

sweet  dew, 
With  here  and  there  a  broken  spray  — 

Of  purple  or  of  white,  a  spray, 
Pulled  down,  a  flower-soft  face  to  meet ; 
The  grasses  bend,  then  upward  sway, 
And  keep  no  print  of  Agnes'  feet. 

The  school-bell  calls,  her  way  she  takes  ; 
The  gleaming  rails  are  crossed  in  haste, 
The  train's  long  smoke  a  picture  makes,  — 
A  tumbling  cherub,  roguish-faced. 


98  In  Sunshine  Land 


The  afternoon  is  scarcely  done  ;  — 
With  faces  white,  and  dread  to  see, 
They  bring  her  home,  —  but  never  one 
With  half  so  white  a  face,  as  she  ! 

The  heavy  wheels  roll  far  away, 
The  smoke  paints  pictures  on  the  skies  ; 
In  her  small  chamber,  done  with  play, 
A  blossom  shed,  —  the  school-child  lies, 

With  soft  round  cheek  and  smoothed  lock 
Against  the  pillows'  drifted  snow, 
Like  some  young  creature  of  the  flock 
That  falls  asleep  where  daisies  blow. 

With  straining  eyes  and  tightened  brows, 
And  heart  that  almost  stops  its  beat, 
Her  mother,  round  and  round  the  house, 
Still  looks  for  prints  of  Agnes'  feet. 

If  she  could  find  them  she  would  weep, 
And  give  them  tears  and  kisses  sweet  — 
But  ah !  the  grass  blades  would  not  keep 
The  little  prints  of  Agnes'  feet  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


101 


LA   MUSIQUE 

(On  an  old  French  Engraving.} 

ITTLE  peers  of  olden  France,  — 
Jaunty  cap  with  plume  a  dance, 
Snow-white  ruff,  and  careless  curl, 
Ear-drop,  necklace,  all  of  pearl ! 
Little  lady,  little  knight, 
Sing  unto  your  hearts'  delight, 
Warbling  clear,  or  humming  low. 
But  it  is  not  ours  to  know 
What  the  words  or  what  the  notes 
Tuned  by  your  soft  treble  throats  ; 
Not  a  tone  our  ears  can  win 
From  the  pleading  violin, 


In  Sunshine  Land 


And  your  fingers,  as  they  poise 

On  the  keys,  awake  no  noise. 

Dainty  birds  of  long  ago, 

Only  this  we  surely  know  : 

Other  children  change  and  change, 

Till  their  childish  selves  grow  strange, 

And  their  mothers  softly  sigh, 

Seeing  how  the  morn  slips  by ; 

You  three  courtiers  small  and  gay  — 

You  will  be  the  same  alway  ! 

Never  Time  with  his  rough  share 

Comes  to  plough  your  foreheads  fair  ; 

From  all  touch  of  changeful  days 

You  were  caught  with  your  sweet  lays  ; 

By  the  painter's  loving  skill 

We  may  see  and  love  you  still ; 

Blithe  you  were  —  and  keep  you  so, 

Dainty  birds  of  long  ago  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  103 


CRIES   OF  THE   NEWSBOY 

(NEWS  !  SUN  !  OR  WORLD  !) 

i 

[RUEL  the  roar  of  the  city  ways, 
Where  life  on  a  myriad  errands 

whirled  ; 
But  suddenly  up  from  the  jarring 

maze, 
Like  a  rocket  thrown  high,  went  a  ringing 

cry : 
"  New-Sunny-World  !     New-Sunny-World  !  " 

There  was  n't  a  glimpse  of  the  sun  anywhere ; 

Up  through  the  streets  the  sea  fog  curled  ; 
Grim  was  the  light  and  leaden  the  air  ; 

The  world  looked  old,  yet  that  voice  rang 

bold: 
"  New-Sunny-World  !     New-Sunny-World  !  " 


i°4  In  Sunshine  Land 

The  brisk  little  crier  I  could  not  see, 

But  I  treasured  the  rocket  cry  he  hurled, 
And  thought,  "This  is  wonderful   news   to 

me  ! 

Heigh-ho  !  is  it  true  ?     Is  it  so  to  you  ? 
A  New  Sunny  World  ? " 

ii 

Up  from  the  city's  murky  streets  forlorn, 
There  comes  a  ringing  cry  at  early  morn, 
That  lets  my  fancy  pass  these  stony  bounds, 
By   hinting   of    sweet    country    sights    and 
sounds. 

Down  there  a  little  Mercury  of  the  press, 
Bright-eyed,  shock-haired,  and  ragged,  as  I 

guess, 
Cries  the  damp  roll   of   "  Tribunes  "  'neath 

his  arm  ; 
The    listening  walls    give    back    the    shrill 

alarm. 

'T  is    Morning  piapers  !    Morning  piapers  ! 

still  — 
Like  some  quaint  bird  with  but  one  call  or 

trill  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land  105 


'T  is  Morning  piapers  !  Morning  piapers  !  — 

aye, 
There  is  an  old-world  accent  in  the  cry. 

Unknown  this  cuckoo  fledgeling  of  the  street 
Beguiles    my   lingering   sleep   with    service 

sweet 

Of  morning  pipers,  piping  blithe  and  clear 
From  some  imagined  sward  or  thicket  near. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


LOST   ON   THE   ELEVATED    ROAD! 

BOVE  the  stony  thoroughfare, 
So  loud  with  wheels  and  clatter- 
ing feet, 

There  is  a  highway  in  the  air, 
And    iron    wheels    shake    the 
steely  street. 

Beside  this  road  are  wires  that  bear 
Impatient,  silent  Thought  along  ; 
O'erlooking  both,  are  windows  where 
Flowers  try  to  bloom,  and  children  throng. 

The  oddest  sight  —  two  little  shoes, 
Hung  on  the  wires,  I  saw  to-day  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land  107 

It  seemed  to  me  they  might  be  clues 
To  trace  some  precious  runaway  ! 


AN     ITALIAN     BOY    SINGING     IN    THE 
STREET 

FT  in  this  quiet  street  is  heard 
The   sweet   voice   of  a   migrant 

bird 

That  strays  from  distant  lands. 
He   sings   and  waits,  and   waits 

and  sings  — 

A  coin  upon  the  pavement  rings  ;  — 
The  stranger  understands  ! 

A  kiss  upon  the  finger  tips, 

A  smile  upon  the  crimson  lips,  — 

A  smile  the  eyes  repeat ! 
He  sings  and  waits,  and  waits  and  sings ; 
It  is  the  smile  the  white  coin  brings, 

And  not  the  song,  though  sweet ! 


io8 


In  Sunshine  Land 


IN   "CHANGE" 

THE    YOUNG    CASHIER 

HE  sat  at  her  desk  the  long  day 

through  ; 
'T  was  Spring,  and  she  came  from 

the  country  I  knew, 
By   the   branch   of   mock-orange 

that  graceful  and  low 
Fell  over  the  desk,  like  a  wreath  of  snow. 

She  gave  me  my  change  —  and,  smiling,  a 

spray 

Of  the  branch  she  broke,  at  peep  of  day, 
From  the  bush  that  blooms  by  her  mother's 

door 
Far  from  the  city's  rude  uproar. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


109 


THE   VASE   THAT    RAN    AWAY 

HAT  art  is  long  and  time  is 

fleeting,'" 
By  sad  experience  all  must 

own  ; 
Reversed,  the  proverb  bears 

repeating  — 
As  in  poor  Harry's  sketch  is  shown. 

His  tedious  task  at  last  completing, 

The  lines,  all  "  wrong,"  the  truth  display, 

That  time  is  long,  and  art  is  fleeting 
When  antique  vases  run  away  ! 


GIVE   THE    BOYS   A    HOLIDAY 

ESIDE  the  Hellespont  a  banished 

sage 
Felt  life  fast   slipping  from   his 

mortal  frame  ; 
Around  him  stood  the  friends  of 

his  calm  age, 

Wept    softly,  called    him  by  his    honored 
name. 


110  In  Suns/iine  Land 

"  What  shall  we  do,  O  master  wise  and  dear, 
When   thou  art   gone    among   the   silent 

ways,  — 

What  shall  we  do  to  keep  thy  memory  clear, 
What  rites  decree,  what  bronze  or  marble 
raise  ?  " 

His  paling  lips  a  faint  smile  overspread, 
His   faded    eyes   shot   forth    a   moment's 

ray  : 
"  Do  naught  for  me,  O  friends,"  the  dying 

said, 
"  Do  naught  but  give  the  boys  a  holiday." 

Ah  forecast    shrewd !     Take   heed,  whoe'er 

thou  be, 
Thou  to  the  heart  of  child  and  youth  find 

way  : 
The  warrior,  statesman,  prince,  forgot  may 

be, 
Not  those  who  "  give  the  boys  a  holiday." 


In  Sunshine  Land 


" FLY ! " 

F  young  Demetrius  the  tale  is  told, 
A  prince  of  friends,  a  monarch's 

son  of  old  ; 

He,  when  his  father's  jealous  ha- 
tred girt 
A  comrade's  life,  did  save  that  life  from  hurt. 

For  what  he  dared  not  in  a  whisper  sound, 
With   careless    spear    he   wrote    upon    the 

ground,  — 

"  Fly,  Mithridates,  fly  !  "    No  word  was  said, 
But  in  the  night-time  Mithridates  fled. 

Ah,  would  that  trustful  youth  a  friend  pos- 
sessed 

To  warn  of  snares  that  treacherously  infest ; 

And  would  that  youth  might  read  and  well 
apply 

The  legend  terse,  "  Fly,  Mithridates,  fly  !  " 


Where  Fancy  Leads 


A   FIELD   OF   RYE 

N  the  middle  ot  the  rye 
Nothing  can  be  seen  but  sky  — 
Or,  perhaps,  the  village  spire 
On  the  hill,  but  scarcely  higher 
Than   these   bearded    heads   ot 

grain. 

Going  through  this  narrow  lane, 
All  at  once  they  smite  your  cheek, 
In  a  sudden  angry  freak; 
Then,  retiring,  interlace, 
Throwing  shadows  on  your  face ! 
When  the  west  wind  takes  its  way 
Through  the  rustling  field,  we  play 
We  are  swimming  out  to  sea, 
And  the  birds  that  fly  may  be 
Sea-gulls  darting  through  the  spray  ! 
Or,  at  other  times,  we  play 

"5 


1 1 6  /TZ  6W nsh ine  Land 

That  the  stalks  of  rye  are  trees 
Whispering,  whispering  in  the  breeze  — 
Not  for  people  like  ourselves, 
But  for  cunning  little  elves, 
That  through  all  the  daytime  sleep, 
Till  the  moon  begins  to  peep  ; 
Then  they  rise,  and,  joining  hands, 
Dance  about  in  merry  bands. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


117 


TODLIN    ISLAND 

N  this  silver  inlet's  breast, 
Lies  an  isle  in  glamour  drest. 
All  its  trees  are  small  but  old, 
Threescore    winters    each    has 
told, 

And  the  patriarch  of  the  clan 

Is  no  taller  than  a  man  ! 

Yet  these  little  weazened  trees 

That  are  dropping  on  their  knees 

Down  before  the  bluff  north  breeze 

Are  gigantic  yew  and  oak 

To  the  island's  pigmy  folk. 

They  are  full  of  craft  and  guile, 
Who  inhabit  Todlin  Isle. 
Oftentimes,  with  quaint  farewells, 


118  In  Sunshine  Land 


They  launch  out  in  scallop-shells, 
On  some  mighty  voyage  bound 
To  the  mainland  meadow-ground. 
If  you  're  like  to  cross  their  track, 
Straight  about  they  veer  and  tack, 
Sheltering  in  those  tangled  coves 
Where  they  hide  their  treasure-troves  : 
If  you  land,  they  quickly  flit 
Into  secret  cave  and  pit  ; 
So  that  never  yet,  I  ween, 
Any  of  their  ilk  was  seen. 
But  their  bond-slaves  you  may  pass, 
Weaving  through  the  warm,  dry  grass 
(Limber  "  hopper,"  coal-black  grig, 
Lady-bug,  and  emmet  trig)  ; 
And  their  beds  you  come  across, 
Strewn  with  tressed  green-gray  moss  ; 
Pillows  made  of  silk-weed  floss  — 
Coverlids  of  rose-leaf  lawn  — 
Sweet-fern  curtains,  partly  drawn. 
You  may  find  their  banquet-rooms 
Hung  with  white  azalea  blooms, 
And  the  dainties  left  in  haste, 
If  you  wish,  yourself  may  taste  ;  — 
Goblets  filled  with  dewberry  wine, 
Purple  beach-plums,  sleek  and  fine, 


In  Sunshine  Land  119 


Honey  that  was  had  in  fee 
From  the  solitary  bee, 
Smilax  salads  cool  and  crisp  ;  — 
You  may  taste  —  but  no  word  lisp, 
Else  for  seven  years  and  a  day 
You  on  Todlin  Isle  must  stay. 
For  of  fern-seed  you  will  eat,  — 
Be  unseen,  from  head  to  feet,  — 
Be  unheard,  howe'er  you  moan, 
Till  your  captive  years  are  flown, 
Drag  about  a  gossamer  chain, 
Serve  the  King  of  Elves,  in  pain. 

Ah,  my  child,  be  wise  and  dumb, 
When  to  Todlin  Isle  you  come  ! 


A    SKY-VOYAGE 


H,  would  you  go  a-sailing 

Upon  the  light,  light  breeze  ? 
Above  the  town  and  country, 
Above  the  tallest  trees  ?  " 


"  I  'd  like  to  go  a-sailing 

Upon  the  light,  light  breeze, 


'20  In  Sunshine  Land 


But  we  've  no  ship  nor  pilot 
To  take  us  on  the  seas." 

"  The  new  moon's  boat  we  '11  borrow 

Made  all  of  mother-o'-pearl, 
A  rosy  cloud  from  sunset 
For  canvas  we  '11  unfurl. 

"  Then  all  the  tearful  dew-elves, 

Returning  to  the  sky 
With  countless  diamond  pitchers 
The  sun  has  emptied  dry, 

"  And  all  the  lovely  flower-folk 

Whose  race  is  run  below, 
Will  join  us  in  our  voyage 
As  on  and  on  we  go  ! 

• 
"  No  trouble  shall  o'ertake  us, 

No  dreary  sight  nor  sound  ; 
The  bobolink  may  greet  us, 
Singing  a  morning  round. 

"  A  star  shall  be  our  pilot 

Across  the  sea  of  light, 
And  some  enchanted  island 
Shall  be  our  port  at  night." 


In  Sunshine  Land 


A  WILD   HORSE  OF  THE  SEA 

RING  me  a  steed  with  a  tossing 

mane, 
Trip  him  with  lasso  on  Neptune's 

green  plain  ; 

Bring  him,  so  cumbered  and  chaf- 
ing, to  me ; 

I  will  break  him  and  ride  him  out  over  the 
sea ! 

His    headstall   shall  be  of   clear  amber  and 

pearl, 
With  plumes  and  with  ribbons  of   foam  on 

the  curl  ; 

Let  the  swimmer  beware  of  his  lifted  hoof, 
And  the  skiff  of  the  fisher  keep  far  aloof  ! 

Yet  the  mermaids  shall  lead  him  with  gar- 
lands of  dulse, 

And  bait  him  with  cresses  and  blossoming 
pulse  ; 

And  the  little  sea-children  may  play  their 
mad  pranks, 

All  astride  of  his  neck  and  his  glistening 
flanks ! 


122 


In  Sunshine  Lar.d 


A   LABRADOR  TEAM 

PON  the  world's  rough  icy  edge 
See  Hans  is  seated  in  his  sledge, 
In  furs  all  muffled  to  his  eyes ! 
He  takes  his  whip  in  hand,  and 

cries, 

"  Nannook  !  Nannook  !  "  and  with  a  bound 
The  frisky  dog-team  clears  the  ground. 
Proud  is  the  leader,  and  the  rest, 
Each,  in  his  own  place,  does  his  best ; 
Wolf,  Lightfoot,  Terror,  Search,  or  Speed, 
Perhaps,  to-morrow  morn,  will  lead  ! 
For  here  in  dog-land  'tis  the  rule 
(Just  as  for  children  in  their  school), 
If  any  proves  a  rogue  or  dunce, 
Down  to  the  foot  he  goes  at  once  ! 
And  this  is  why  when  young  Hans  shook 


In  Sunshine  Land  123 


His  whip,  and  cried,  "  Nannook  !  Nannook  !  " 

Poor  Mischief,  who  in  pride  had  led 

Till  yesterday,  now  hung  his  head  ; 

And,  bowed  with  shame,  brought  up  the  rear, 

In  his  brown  eye  a  big  bright  tear ! 

"  Pull  well,  pull  strong  !  "  cries  Hans,  "  so,  so  ! 

To-morrow  to  the  head  you  '11  go  — 

Nannook  !  —  and  you  shall  be,  once  more, 

The  proudest  dog  in  Labrador  !  " 


ROBIN    HOOD    AND    HIS   VETERANS 

DREAMED  I  was  in  Sherwood 
Amid  a  wild,  green  glen  ; 

And  there  I  met  true  Robifi 
And  all  his  merry  men. 

True  Robin  waved  me  welcome, 
And  each  man  said,  "  Good-den." 

They  sat  me  down  at  table 

Between  bold  Little  John 
And  stalwart,  brave  Will  Scarlet : 

And  every  mother's  son 
A  leathern  belt  and  doublet 

Of  Lincoln  green  had  on. 


124  In  Sunshine  Land 

The  supper  now  was  ended  ; 

Quoth  I,  "  My  heart  't  would  cheer, 
If  I  could  see  ye  wrestle, 

Or  flush  the  fallow-deer." 
Quoth  Robin,  sighing  deeply, 

"  Oh,  .that  was  yester  year  !  " 

But  loud  laughed  Tuck,  the  Friar, 
(The  table  shook  thereat) ; 

"  Fair  sir,  in  1890 

We  've  done  with  all  of  that ; 

Dear  Will  hath  rheumatism, 
And  Little  John  's  ower  fat  !  " 


AN    INTERVIEW  WITH    CAPTAIN   KIDD 

SCENE  :     THE    PIRATE'S    ISLAND 

YSTERY,  mystery,  is  the  rune 
Chanted    here    both    night    and 

noon, 

While  around  this  jutting  steep 
The  white  breakers  pry  and  peep  ; 
And,  defeated  in  their  quest, 
Sink  upon  the  ocean's  breast. 


///  Sunshine  Land  125 

Here  some  gale  is  ever  shrill, 
Though  the  four  winds  all  are  still ; 
And  a  wilder  note  is  heard 
From  the  sea's  storm-weathered  bird, 
While  the  sandlark,  frail  and  slight, 
Nods  and  totters  out  of  sight. 
Yonder  flint-embossed  boulder, 
Poised  as  on  a  Titan's  shoulder, 
Seemeth  oftentimes  to  stir 
Above  the  sleeping  thunderer.  — 
Mystery,  mystery,  is  the  rune 
Chanted  here  both  night  and  noon. 

Had  I  craft  of  eldern  days, 
That  could  lurking  spirits  raise, 
Forth  should  leap,  with  lusty  cheers, 
Some  king-ghost  of  buccaneers. 
Not  more  jet  his  waving  plumes 
Than  the  unshorn  clustered  glooms, — 
Penthouse  thatch  to  eyes  whose  sheen 
Matched  his  steely  falchion  keen. 
Nor  his  bearded  lip  should  lack 
Recent  kiss  of  warming  sack. 
Knew  I  spells  of  conjurers  old  — 


126 


In  Sunshine  Land 


The  ghost  of  Captain  Kidd  rises. 

"  Hold  ! 

At  thy  hardy  wish  I  come, 
Let  my  deep  voice  strike  thee  dumb ! 
I  do  teach  the  wind  to  howl, 
I  do  give  the  fisher  fowl 
And  the  tottering  sandlark's  brood 
All  their  throated  drearyhood  ! 
I,  the  genius  of  this  bourn, 
Hence  all  gainful  searchers  spurn. 
But  because  thou  carest  not 
(Thriftless  bard  ! )  for  treasure  grot, 
Nor  for  gold  in  massy  bars, 
While  Heaven's  vault  is  lined  with  stars, 
And  for  a  new  song  would  part 
With  the  hoard  of  Inca  swart  — 
Know  thou,  'neath  yon  poised  rock 
In  a  chest  with  sovran  lock, 


In  Sunshine  Land  I27 

There  the  precious  spoils  lie  hid, 
Of  the  world-renowned  Kidd  !  — 
Angels  blonde  and  dusk  doubloons, 
Moor-wrought  fancies,  Indian  moons, 
Flagons  from  the  rich  Levant, 
Brand  and  dagger  puissant, 
Wassail  bowl  and  drinking-horn, 
Gallant  prize  from  tourney  borne, 
Gemmed  idol,  priestly  charm, 
And  jeweled  band  from  beauty's  arm. 
These,  and  more,  of  nameless  worth, 
Lie  in  sort  of  darkling  mirth, 
While  from  bland  Floridian  shore 
Far  as  frosty  Labrador, 
Still  crook-shouldered  delvers  moil, 
Getting  clods  for  all  their  toil ! 
By  the  soul  of  goodly  wine 
I  have  store,  by  wood  and  brine  — 
Safe  from  pillage  as  the  prize 
Iris  guards  in  clearing  skies. 
At  those  delvers  though  I  gibe, 
Yet  I  more  do  love  their  tribe 
Than  the  trenchant  smiling  sage 
Who  from  Story's  sparkling  page 
Would  erase  me  and  my  coffers. 
Be  it  thine  to  silence  scoffers, 


128  In  Sunshine  Land 

Thine  to  keep  my  fame  from  rust, 
And  the  edge  of  youthful  gust 
From  the  dulling  plague  of  doubt. 
That  the  skeptic  thou  mayst  rout, 
Lo  !  this  guardian  monolith 
Thus  I  '11  heave  aside,  and  sith 
Thou  art  greedless,  thou  shalt  see 
What  this  cavern  hoards  for  me. 
Lock,  slide  back,  and  uplift,  lid, 
Show  the  pelf  of  Captain  Kidd. 

"  Seest  thou,  and  markest  well  ? 
Straightway  I  reverse  the  spell : 
Lid,  fall  to,  and,  lock,  be  true, 
Spring  no  more  for  mortal's 


In  Sunshine  Land 


FIRESIDE   MAGIC 

HO  's  in  the  chimney-seat  ? 
The  firelight  shadows  are  dan- 
cing- 
Dancing,       retreating,      advan- 
cing; 
We  cannot  see  very  well, 

To  tell 
Who's  in  the  chimney-seat  ! 

Who  's  in  the  chimney-seat  ? 

It  may  be  some  crafty  enchanter  — 

The  witches  that  chased  Tarn  o!  Shanter — 


In  Sunshine  Land 


Robin  Goodfellow  —  Queen  Lab  - 

Or  Mab- 
There  in  the  chimney-seat. 

Who  's  in  the  chimney-seat  ? 
It  may  be  just  a  small  maiden, 
Deep-eyed,  with  brain  legend-laden. 
Dreaming  of  olden  nights 
And  sprites  — 
There  in  the  chimney -seat. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE   KING   WHO   TRAVELED   AT 
HOME 

ANCY  a  monarch  old  and  wise, 
With  a  sober  mouth,  and  merry 

eyes, 
And  snowy  beard  that  swept  his 

breast ; 
In  robes  not  of  purple  but  russet  dressed. 

Fancy  him  riding  through  the  land, 
Not  in  a  coach,  and  four-in-hand  ; 
But  in  the  manner  which  I  shall  show 
This  wise  old  monarch  was  pleased  to  go. 

"  T  is  an  age,"  he  cried, "  that  travels  so  fast, 
Many  wonderful  things  unseen  are  passed  ; 


In  Sunshine  Land 


I  would  see  what  the  rest  of  the  world  has 

missed, 
I  will  travel  henceforward  as  slow  as  I  list." 

So  a  tortoise  he  called,  of  the  ancient  time, 
Whose  motions  were  steady,  whose  patience 

sublime  ; 
Broad   was    his    back,    and    with    room    to 

spare 
For  the  monarch's  footstool  and  easy  chair. 

So    mounted,   he  gathered  the  reins  in  his 

hand, 
And  rode  as  he  liked  through  the  spacious 

land, 
While  his  courtiers  beside  him  on  either 

hand 
Trudged  lazily  on,  indulgent  and  bland. 

Sometimes  by  field  and   sometimes  through 

town, 

Rode  this  merry  monarch  of  old  renown  ; 
Sometimes    but    a   furlong    he    traveled    all 

day, 
And    beneath    a   green    tree   for   the   night 

would  stay. 


In  Sunshine  Land  133 


He  said  there  were  kingdoms  as  great  as  his 

own,. 
But  their  laws  and  their  manners  were  yet 

unknown  ; 

And  these,  with  patience,  he  hoped  to  learn, 
And,  so  much  the  wiser,  homeward  return. 

So  he  studied  the  ways  of  the   flocks  and 

herds, 

And  sharpened  his  ears  to  hear  the  birds,  — 
The  King  of  .the  crows,  and  the  Commodore 

gray 
Whom  the  tribes  of  the  wild  geese  all  obey. 

In  the  Wars  of  the  Ants  he  knew  who  won  ; 
He  watched  how  the  silk  of  the  Spider  was 

spun  ; 
And  the  Queen  of  the  wild  bees  came  to 

him, 
With  a  honey-tale,  from  the  woodland  dim. 

Sometimes  to  a  country  village  he  came  ; 
And  then  he  would  call  some  child  by  name, 
And  invite  him  to  go  for  a  pleasure-ride, 
While  he  told  him  such  tales  that  he  laughed 
till  he  cried ! 


134  In  Sunshine  Land 

And  the  child  as  he  sat  by  the  old  king's 

knee, 
On  the  tortoise'    back,    clapped   his   hands 

with  glee 

At  the  wonderful  sights,  unseen  before, 
That  now  appeared  at  his  own  cottage  door. 

Would  that  we  too  might  travel  so, 
But  the  fashion  went  out  a  long  time  ago  : 
The  king  is  gone,  and  the  mosses  creep 
Over  the  tortoise  fast  asleep  ! 


HOW  THE  PINES  WENT  TO  SEA 

HE  mighty  pines,  they  march  in 

file 
Adown   the  mountain,  in   the 

wind, 

By  rocky  stairs  for  many  a  mile, 
Their  dark  locks  streaming  out  behind. 

They  stay  not  till  they  reach  the  coast, 

And  there  a  crafty  race  they  meet  ; 
"  Oh  whither  bound,  ye  lordly  host  ? 
Why  have  ye  left  your  lofty  seat  ?  " 


In  Sunshine  Land  135 

"  The  sea,  the  sea !     He  calls  us  still, 

His  footsteps  shake  the  mountain's  side  ; 
And  we  have  come,  befall  what  will, 
To  throw  us  on  his  bosom  wide." 

"  Not  thus,  in  shaggy  disarray, 

Ye    trooping    pines  should   throng  the 

sea ; 

But  hark  to  us,  and  with  us  stay, 
And  for  his  service  fashioned  be." 

They  pluck  them  by  their  tresses  dark, 
They  cleave  them  to  the  golden  core  ; 

They  shape  the  keel,  they  rig  the  bark, 
They  fling   the   sail,  and    launch    from 
shore. 

The  mighty  pines,  with  iron  bound, 
Now  swiftly  skim  the  heaving  deep ; 

But  though  they  float  the  world  around, 
A  legend  of  their  home  they  keep. 

Hence,  often  as  they  skirt  that  height 
On  which  their  sylvan  years  were  passed, 

A  breezy  murmur  runs  so  light 

From  prow  to  stem,  from  deck  to  mast. 


In  Sunshine  Land 


The  rudder  hums,  the  bowsprit  croons, 
The  seaman  hears  in  fond  amaze  ; 

He  dreams  of  shade  in  summer  noons, 
Of  cool,  leaf-matted,  fragrant  ways. 


THE  MIGRATION  OF  THE  SQUIRRELS 

S  the  squirrels  swept  down  from 

the  north, 
A  questioner  stood  in  their  way  : 

"  Why  thus  go  ye  forth  ? 
Is  it  peace,  is  it  war,  that  .takes 

ye  so  far  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  our  secret,"  said  they, 
"  And  we  will  not  tell !  " 

As  the  squirrels  swept  on  from  the  north, 
Said  one  to  the  other,  "  Disclose 

Why  't  is  we  go  forth." 
Then  answered  the  other,  "  Heav'n's  secret, 

my  brother  ! 

Not  one  of  our  company  knows, 
Heav'n  keeps  it  so  well !  " 


/;/  Sunshine  Land  137 


INVITATION  TO   ECHO 

WO  of  us  among  the  daisies 

In    the    meadow    bright    and 

still,— 
You,  alone  among  the  mazes 

Of  the  dark  trees  on  the  hill  ; 
O  sweet  Echo, 
O  fleet  Echo, 

Can  we  not  o'ertake  you,  following  with  a 
will  ? 

[A/i,  Will!] 

'T  is  my  name  —  but  much  I  wonder 

That  you  in  your  hiding-place, 
On  the  shady  hill  or  under, 

Things  you  never  knew  can  trace  ! 
Declare,  mocker, 
O  rare  mocker, 

What  my  sister's  name  is,  else  you  're  in  dis- 
grace ! 

['Tts  Grace  /] 

What  sweet  things  do  you  resemble, — 
Morning  dewdrops,  starry  gleams, 


In  Sunshine  Land 


•Flowers  that  in  the  light  wind  tremble, 
Reckonings  of  the  rippled  streams  ? 
O  dear  playmate, 
Come  near,  playmate  ; 

Are  these  fancies  true,  or  naught  at  all  but 
dreams  ? 

\Bitt  dreams  /] 

Then  come  down  and  let  us  see  you  ; 

If  you  cannot  come  to  stay, 
Ask  the  stern  old  hill  to  free  you 
Just  for  half  a  holiday. 
O  glad  Echo,  — 
O  sad  Echo, 

To  escape  your  prison  can  you  find  no  way  ? 

[No  way  /] 


In  Sunshine  Land  14* 


A   SHOOTING    STAR 


ROM  Ariadne's  crown 

Something  came  flashing  down, 
Over  the  distant  town, 
Over  the  river  and  sleeping  farms  ; 
The  planets  above  seemed  to  wink 
As  they  watched  the  traveler  sink  ; 
And  motherly  Earth,  I  think, 
May  have  folded  a  little  lost  star  in  her  arms. 


I42  In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  YOUNG   GEOLOGIST 


OMES  one  with  searching  look, 
To  read  the  great  Stone  Book : 
With  youthful  brows  perplexed, 
He  scans  the  rugged  text. 


The  knuckled  rock  he  taps, 
And  ancient  thunders  lapse, 
With  deep  imagined  thud, 
On  beaches  of  the  flood. 

Old  summers  bud  and  bloom, 
And  sink  into  a  tomb  : 
He  sees  them  bloom  again 
Upon  the  hearths  of  men. 


/;/  Sunshine  Land  143 

Life  went  with  striding  pace, 
He  hunts  upon  its  trace : 
A  track  —  a  rib  —  a  tooth  - 
What  birds  and  beasts  uncouth  ! 

Youth  bends  with  baffled  look, 
Above  the  great  Stone  Book  ; 
The  title-page  is  dim, 
The  Finis  not  for  him. 


THE   FIELD   OF  THOUGHT 

HE  wind  of  Thought  shall   seed 

thy  field 

With  all  that  North    or   South- 
lands yield, 
And  sun   and    dew  of    Thought 

shall  bring 

Thy  field  to  happy  harvesting. 
And    Thought's    keen    sickle,    strange    to 

sloth, 

Shall  cleanly  reap  the  lusty  swath, 
And  Thought's  deep  garner  shall  contain 
Thy  winter  keep  of  golden  grain  ; 
So  be,  thou  deem  thy  field  divine, 
Thy  glebe  shall  laugh,  thy  toil  shall  shine. 


144 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THWACK-THE-HOUSE-IN-THE-RIBS 

N  windless  winter  nights, 
When  cloudless  are  the  heights, 
And  every  planet  sheen 
Drives  lances  long  and  keen  ; 
When  snow-fleece   hangs  in  the 
eaves, 

And  dead  are  fireside  lights, 

And  not  a  track  is  seen 

Save  mincing,  four-foot  thieves' 

That  lead  to  granary  cribs  — 

Then  hark !  hark  !  hark  ! 

In  the  deep  of  the  night  and  the  dark, 

Comes  Thwack-the-House-in-the-Ribs ! 

Half  wakes  the  sleeper,  then 
Is  turned  to  sleep  again, 


In  Sunshine  Land  145 

And  dreams  outside  there  stands 

A  troll  with  doubled  hands, 

Who  jars  from  time  to  time 

The  dwellings  of  weak  men  ; 

A  troll  from  northmost  lands, 

From  gloomy  Jotunheim, 

Not  blustering  like  his  sibs. 

'T  is  only  the  frost  in  the  beams  ! 

But  the  name  that  I  heard  in  my  dreams 

Was  Thwack-the-House-in-the-Ribs ! 


WHO   FILLS   THE   STOCKINGS? 

OOK  where  the  stockings  hang  in 

a  row ! 
Least  and  greatest,  how   plump 

they  show ! 

Let  lispers  and  toddlers  still  be- 
lieve 

Lapland  Kriss  on  a  Christmas  eve 
Lowers  himself  through  the  chimney  black, 
Lades  each  sock  from  his  well-filled  sack, 
Leaps  to  his  sleigh  —  and  his  reindeer  go 
Lightly  over  the  frozen  snow  ! 


146  In  Sunshine  Land 

"  Likely  story  !  "  you  cry,  and  you 
Laugh  with  your  lips  and  your  eyes  of  blue. 
Look  sharply  now  —  and  now  look  again  — 
Lesson  in  primer  was  never  more  plain  : 
Long  stocking,  short  stocking,  all  show  the 
same 

Large  letter  f? ,  which  stands  for  a  name ! 


Love  left  his  monogram  written  here  — 
Love  fills  the  stockings,  O  children  dear ! 


YE  MERRIE   CHRISTMAS   FEAST 

OW  Grace  is  said,  no  longer  wait 
With  eyes  downcast   on    emptie 

plate, 

But  see  ye  Turkey,  fat,  supine, 
On  which,  good  People,  ye  shall 

dine! 

There  lieth  he,  —  a  noble  bulk, 
That  soone  shall  be  a  shattered  hulk. 
Carve,    Goodman,    carve,    with    speed    and 

skill  — 
Ye  Guests,  spare  not,  but  ete  your  fill ! 


In  Sunshine  Land  147 

But  who  is  this,  that  this  way  comes  ? 
Sir  Bagge-Pudding,  with  wealth  of  plums : 
Ha!  smell  ye  not  ye  savorie  fumes  ? 
Ye  Orient  on  this  table  blooms. 
Ye  Tropics  here  their  Dainties  spill  — 
Ye  Guests,  spare  not,  but  ete  your  fill ! 

And  now  come  Junkets,  Jumbles,  Tartes, 
And,  after  these,  ye  mince-meat  Pie, 
And  monumental  Cake,  piled  high, 
Made  by  ye  cunning  Queene  of  Hearts, 
Who  all  surveys  with  beaming  eye. 
Quoth  she  :  "  Pray  tarrie,  tarrie  still  ; 
Ye  Guests,  spare  not,  but  ete  your  fill !  " 

Ye  Feast  is  done,  ye  Day  is  gone, 
And  Sleepe  his  curtains  dark  has  drawn  ; 
Therethrough  peepes  many  a  fearful  thing  : 
Ye  Turkey  and  ye  Bagge-Pudding 
On  legges  goe  strutting  up  and  downe  ; 
Ye  Mince-Pie  weares  a  deadly  frowne  ; 
Ye  Cakes  and  Jumbles  lead  a  dance ; 
Ye  Tartes  and  Junkets  madly  prance. 
Because,  O  Guests,  ye  ate  your  fill, 
These  sprites  have  now  their  evil  will ! 


148 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  BURIED   CHIMES  OF  CHRISTMAS 


LEGEND  I  've  read  of  a  buried 

town, 

Under  the  wild  hills  folded  down, 
Hidden  alike  the  cot  and  hall, 
Hidden  the  spire  of  the  minster 

tall; 

Yet,  oft  as  the  morn  of  Christmas  breaks, 
From  the  sunken  belfry  music  wakes. 
Through  the  snowy  dells 
It  ebbs  or  swells  — 
This  voice  of  the  buried  Christmas  bells. 

Is  the  legend  true  ?     Oh,  question  not, 
But  seek  its  proof  in  the  human  lot : 


In  Suits/line  Land  149 

Deep    in    the   heart  —  as   each    heart   doth 

know  — 

Is  a  buried  village,  called  Long  Ago  ; 
And  never  the  Christmastide  rolls  round 
But  chimes  peal  forth  from  underground. 

Ye  chimes  so  dear, 

Ring  clear,  bring  near 
The  Christmas  joys  of  each  vanished  year ! 

Now  there  's  a  stir  of  life  below 

In  this  secret  village  of  Long  Ago  : 

Here   laughter   of   children,    and    hastening 

feet, 

There  silver  locks  in  the  ingle-seat, 
And    youth    and    maiden,    and  —  wondrous 

show  !  — 
Ourselves  as  we  moved  in  the  Long  Ago. 

Chime,  sweetly  chime, 

Ye  bells  of  the  prime  ; 
Bring  us  the  buried  Christmas  time  ! 


In  Sunshine  Land 


THE  NEW  YEAR'S   CRADLE 

HE  New  Year's  cradle  is  the  cres- 
cent moon, 
His  cradle-song  an  old  vesperean 

rune, 
By  shrill  winds  sung  in  Heaven; 

as  he  rocks 
The   little   stars    shake   out  their  sparkling 

locks, 

And  smiling  down  the  softened  air, 
They  seem  to  say,  "  all 's  well  and  fair !  " 


In  Sunshine  Land 


HONEYTROPE 

HE  bee  from  the  hive,  and  the 

lone  wild  bee, 
And   the  bee  from   the  cave  of 

the  blasted  tree, 
And  the  leaf-winged  moth,  and 

the  butterfly 
Whose  wings  are   flecked  with  the  blue  of 

the  sky, 

I  met  all  going  one  way  together  :  — 
"  What  taketh  you  forth  in  the  bright  spring 

weather, 
And  what  will  you  earn  for  your  morning's 

labor?" 

"  Honeytrope,  neighbor,  — 
Honey  trope  — there  on  the  slope  !  " 


In  Sunshine  Land 


I  laughed  them  to  scorn,  for  I  thought  that  I 

knew 

No  flower  with  this  name  on  earth  ever  grew  ; 
But  they  all  hurried  on  in  spite  of  me,  — 
The  butterfly,  moth,  and  notable  bee ; 
And  I  followed,  and  came  to  a  hillside  sunny. 
'T  was  swimming  in  purple,  't  was  dripping 

with  honey  ; 
And,  humming,  they  fell  to  their   morning 

labor,  - 

"  Honeytrope,  neighbor,  — 
Honeytrope  —  otherwise,  Hope  !  " 


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